


Elua's Covenant

by Jon_of_Narva



Series: Elua's Nightmare [5]
Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 50,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4181829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jon_of_Narva/pseuds/Jon_of_Narva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>THIS is the Second Book in the Trilogy that started with Elua's Nightmare (Elua's Companion is #3) and takes place 42 years after the first book's main events.<br/>This one is told from the point of view of the Dragon, Merrin, during the long century of Secret Guardianship over Terre d'Ange that he shares with Sushulana. This story is told in a different way from the others, and Merrin's head is a heavy thing indeed... please warn me if his style becomes too heavy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Susan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susan/gifts), [billyidolrules](https://archiveofourown.org/users/billyidolrules/gifts).



Book #2

 

“ _Being happy is the easiest thing in the world, all you have to do is put your common sense ahead of your pride_.”  
-Sushulana Evelarian vin Treewater.

 

Part one; I, Merrin  
Part two; Interlopers  
Part three; War Dogs

 

PART ONE;  
**I, Merrin**

 

 

 

**1**

 

The assassin crouched behind the chimney with his crossbow clutched tightly in both hands, awaiting the passage of the Royal party. His grip was too tight, no professional this one, however well he’d chosen his roost. There were no vantage points from which he could be spotted anywhere nearby, and he would have a clear shot at the Royal carriages when they rounded the far end of the square. The passengers of those carriages and their guards would have been facing away from the assassin at that point, and less likely to catch a glimpse of the threat to them. Aside from his choice of position, it was the one clever thing this man had thought of.

There could be no escape from this position, he would be seen by the hundreds of people down below once he left the shadow of the chimney. A light rain had fallen while he had been waiting, motionless since dawn. The catgut bowstring was losing it’s strength and he had no way to know how badly his aim would be affected. And lastly, this poor fool, even now, had not made up his mind who he wanted to kill; Sidonie, her Consort Imriel, or Anielle. Even at this late hour, his addled mind remained unfocused, driven only by his feverish desire for revenge.

Such was the nature of the “threats” that I, Merrin, now guarded Terre d’Ange from.

This sort of depressingly pedestrian danger was all that remained to occupy my attention in this lovely Kingdom, this place that my covenant with Elua himself bound me to. Fourteen years earlier, I had allowed the last raiders from Jutland to strike at the coast of Azzale, as a test of their readiness and as a reminder why the existence of the military continued to be a good idea. This I did after careful consultation with the Royal Family, and with the promise that Sushulana would be there to help meet them… not that any power on Earth could have held her back. This had been the only foreign incursion into d’Angeline territory in the last 40 years, and the only event presenting itself that could do anything to avert the complacency that had set in even among the leaders of the Army itself. It was a far weaker assault than the invasion from Gotland, which Hyacinth had eliminated a decade earlier. This was little more than a large raid, and few had died. The lessons learned had been invaluable, and paved highways of the Imperial style were being constructed now that the Generals had learned how difficult the movement of their armies became in the face of persistent rain. Studies had shown how the ability to move troops about would allow for the reduction in the overall size of the army without loosing it’s ability to defend the realm, and so work had begun. This project was also having a salutary effect on local trade.

However, lives _had_ been lost, no matter how “few”. And now, a diseased Pigeon was coming home to roost, as my dear mate would say.

The Comte’ d’Arras had been among the fallen, catapulting his younger brother into a post he was ill prepared for, lacking in many of the talents his elder brother possessed. His dowager sister had provided some badly needed support until she and the new Count’s only son had been killed last year in an overturned carriage. The Comte d’Arras had believed the rumor that his brother’s death could have been prevented, and was equally enamored of the strange rumor that if paving crews reached his district sooner this latest tragedy could have been averted. This man blamed both the problem and its solution for his troubles, where his real difficulties arose from struggling with a job that was clearly beyond him. The stress had unhinged him, and he had fallen back on the one skill he had mastered to avenge his woes; that of a Huntsman.

This was exactly the sort of idiocy that could transform properly placed joy into highly improper misery. The chances were just as great that he would hit nothing at all, or one of the horses or Guards close by the carriage. Even that would have ruined the perfection of this day of days, and I had no reason to tolerate it in any case. I reached in, and solidified my hold on this damaged mind.

At such times, Humans are very susceptible to unexpected stimulus, and I was able to cloak my inquiries to make them seem similar to his own doubts. **Why do this? Why not simply let them pass on, and try to rule wisely again? It would be so easy, wait until dark and just slip away.**

The Comte quailed at the thought of returning to his duties, and his family. I attempted to bring his feelings for them to the fore, and found little there. His wife and two daughters, mere women in his mind, were nothing but burdens to him now. Their fate and their disgrace meant little to him, certainly far less than the letter of condolence he had received from the Queen last year. He had viewed it as cold and perfunctory, even if a minor holding such as his that had never gone out of its way to support that same Crown, and thusly rated nothing more than what it received. This Comte, who had never missed a meal in his life and had servants to dry him off after his daily bath, cherished his sense of being persecuted by fate and neglected by the Crown. It was the totem he used to shield himself against his own common sense, and it made him impervious to the reason of other people.

I sighed, and and caused a series of muscle spasms that brought the crossbow to his own chest, and fired the bolt upwards into his pathetic brain.

The body slumped, held in place where the sloping roof met the vertical brickwork of the chimney, and there it would remain until the smell gave it’s location away. I made a mental note to visit the Comtess before that discovery was made, and offer the neglected woman and her daughters a way out of Terre d’Ange before life here became unbearable for them. There was nothing I could do about the Comte’s body now, and his story would be obvious to the first investigator that found him.

  ***

 

I returned to Sushulana’s side, feeling that brief moment of vertigo as my awareness took its rightful place inside my body. In my case, a very brief moment, not even a full heartbeat. It is still a source of wonder to me, how leaving my body can be so easy while returning to it causes a feeling of having made a mistake of some sort. Someday I will have to have a discussion about this with one of the more learned Priests.

My mate stood rigidly by my side, one arm tight around the small of my back, and the other hooked into my belt where it was nearest her hip. Her protective hold on me was meant to ensure that I would not loose my concentration should anyone stumble into me, and in truth it was as unnecessary as it was welcome.  
My mate… my Sushulana.

How incredible it still was to me, more than 40 years with her at me side, and it was still such a wondrous thing that at times it did not seem entirely real to me. Yes, a dreadful thing to admit, but you must understand that I had not even thought of happiness for myself for centuries past. During our 72-year sojourn as enemies through half a hundred worlds, I had even been on the lookout for a suitable mate for her, failing to see her as mine until we arrived here. There was actually more to it than that, I wasn’t able to imagine myself with her, a considerable amount of convincing was required on the parts of the remarkable people of Terre d’Ange to awaken this old Dragon to what was right in front of my face.

  
I turned my temporarily Human face to Sushulana, and by doing so I let her know that I was back.

She turned her head to look up at me as I studied her. Her delicately pointed chin, her lips that were neither thin nor overly full, pert little nose and vast, dark eyes. Formerly paranoid, those eyes met mine in perfect trust. That trust made me feel mightier than I ever had in my life, and far happier. She knew what I had been up to, and raised an eyebrow to me. *Anything serious?*

Sushulana had gained a limited mastery of the psychic sciences that I based my own power on. Limited, because there is a limit to what one can add to one’s own portfolio. She is a Mage and a master of the arts of Warfare, her physical prowess is miraculous considering her small frame, and is actually based on being clever with what little she has. Yet she still finds room in her head to bring forth her psionic self strongly enough to converse mentally with me, in addition to a couple of other abilities.

  
**One sniper, he won’t be found in time to ruin this day.** I answered her.

She made a face, but not a judgmental one, nor did she ask what the circumstances were. Sushulana was upset that even a single personn would dare to raise a hand against her dearest friends, and fretted that others might be out there until I explained the situation to her. She naturally thought of the plight of the would-be assassin's family.  *Ah, more refugees then? It has been a long time since we had nobles coming to us, and our part of the world. Perhaps I should have them bring a few servants along.*

Ours was a simple life in Nova Angelica, by d’Angeline standards. Enjoyable and not terribly difficult in many ways, supremely relaxing if one allowed it to be… and bit by bit, we had learned to let it be so for ourselves. However, sophistication was lacking down there. We left the creation of that sort of thing to the d’Angeline folk that came to live among us.

The clatter of hooves and rolling wheels reached us, and not far behind that was the cheering of a thousand voices. The Royal family was approaching us at last. It was no trial to keep my mind open, not where everyone involved was so happy, and so _minimally envious_. God-blooded and proud to be so… how had I come to like these people so much? It was a good question, and one I asked myself on a regular basis. You see, it was the Gods themselves that destroyed the world of our birthplace. Mine, and Sushulana’s.

More about that later, I think, once you have had a chance to ponder the implications.  
Back to this glorious day;

 

One the eve of her 40th birthday, Anielle de la Courcel was coronated Queen of Terre d’Ange, and this was the 3rd and last day of celebrations. Autumn, once again, as it had been the first time we had all come together here. What a serendipitous thing it was that Anielle had been born at the close of the harvest season, just when people were ready to have a good celebration and also had the abundance to make a good job of it.

A _good_ job, said I? No, that is the sort of understatement that not even Sidonie could get away with. What was happening now was the sort of thing that was meant to outdo the famous fete’ of Hyacinth’s Return. Until recently, it had been called Phedre’s Fete, yet these days people had to be careful how they used her name, most especially when they did so in the vicinity of the Royal Family.

The very family that were coming upon us as I finished that thought.

Forty mounted Knights clattered past us, Heroes all, and none of them young men. This was the bulk of what remained of Queen Sidonie’s personal Guard. Most of the rest had retired already, just as their Queen was about to do, or had died of _natural_ causes… and I will not hesitate to take pride in that fact. To the rear of the procession rode 200 mounted warriors, the new Queen Anielle’s Guards. This was an interesting mix of Lancers, bowmen and other specialists that could fight mounted or on foot in a dark alley, and function independently on a rough Battlefield or staff a formal banquet with equal professionalism. This group of men were the ones that Sushulana took pride in, and for good reason; she had helped train them.

Our eyes were not on the Guards, but what was between them. Three magnificent carriages, open to the air and the sunbeams that seemed to follow them wherever they went. The first held the new Queen and her parents, the second held her brother and sister and their spouses, and lastly came the one bearing Imriel & Sidonie’s Grandchildren. We were not afforded much of a look at the 2nd or 3rd carriage, Sushulana and I were standing among the throngs of the common folk along the side of the street, not ready to announce our presence yet. She threw flowers and cheered, and I clapped and cheered as loudly and in the same dialect that everyone around me was doing.

And so, it was a surprise to me when Imriel ordered the the procession to “Halt!” and kicked the door to the carriage open, looking straight at us as he leapt to the pavement.

I rolled my eyes at Sushulana. “I told you that Sable cloak was a bit much for this time of year.”

“Oh, like your choice of ensemble isn’t standing out here?” If anything, I was on the plain side. All I was wearing was a black & white checkered shirt with a half-cloak thrown over it that was made of the soft gray fur of a thousand Door-Mice. It matched the charcoal-gray of my trousers rather well. Eminently practical, it was not unlike what was being worn in Tiberium that year.

We were both in jest with each other. In truth, we were both wearing, _un_ disguised, the faces that the Courcel family had become familiar with when we had first met them. This was the first time in 42 years that we had done so on the streets of the City of Elua.

Young women to either side of us squealed, until they saw that Imriel, the living legend, dashed straight to us. He did not blink or hesitate, indeed it had never been his nature to do so. He clasped my right hand in his left and firmly took hold of Sushulana’s hand in his other, they using the wrist-to-wrist handshake of the warrior class. Imriel said something that was lost in the uproar of the crowd, and before any of his Guards had caught up with him, he began hauling us both towards his carriage.  
I was too astonished to resist the pull, and once we had taken two steps forward we were clear of the crowd, visible to all.

Sushulana and I exchanged wide-eyed glances. This was not what we had planned at all. No, we had been thinking more in terms of a quick meeting of eyes and then fading back into the crowd as the carriages hurried past, followed by intense speculation and a joyful yet measured reunion at the Grand Ball that evening. Over the years, secrecy had changed from a burden to a useful tool, and thence became an ingrained habit. In one moment of impulsive joy, Imriel seemed ready to strip that from us in a way that even Sushulana would not have dared… well, not without a god reason.

Or what she _considered_ to be a good reason at the time… I suppose.

What stopped me from stepping sideways out of that situation was the sight of the women behind him. Anielle stood in the carriage, openly delighted to see us, and giving a beckoning wave to her 'Faerie God-Mother'. Sidonie sat up, the fingers of one hand over her mouth to cover a smile much like the one her daughter was giving us, and a twinkle in her eyes that even I could not deny.

Oh, Gods grant me serenity… did they think that they could make this look like a random invitation from on-high to the common folk?

Our friends  _did_ , and I had to play along. If I was smiling as broadly as the rest of them as I followed Sushulana into the carriage, it was not because I found it difficult to do so. These were the people who treated us better than we did ourselves, and had done as much to save us from our madness as had the Gods themselves. Now there were so few of them left, I could deny them nothing. No, not even a moment of happiness that was bound to cause me many inconveniences in the years to come.

Sidonie embraced Sushulana carefully, until she realized that the magic that made the Elf’s ears and eyes look normal would not be disturbed by touching her. The once Queen, now Queen Mother, was then halfway through her seventh decade, fulfilling her promise to follow in her mother’s footsteps into honorable retirement. Elegant and regal as ever, only up close were the lines in her face apparent, and the loose skin around her throat. Her hair had gone sliver, a color that suited her and was allowed to grow long that it might compliment the deep blue of her dresses. Courcel Blue and Courcel Silver, always.

Imriel’s hair had also changed, a humble and imperfect white shot through with a few strands of black. He was the older of the two, barely, and looked it. I found this odd, and not because of the years Sushulana gifted him with. I was not happy about that, as the Royal couple had guessed. Sushulana had given away years that should have been spent with _me_ , and at the time I thought she had done so wrongly. Sidonie, being half Cruithne, I expected to age more swiftly and drastically than Imriel, leaving him the lonely one in the end. I was happy to see it was not so, the both of them hale and healthier then I had expected. One look at their eyes told me they were as quick-witted as ever… which only made their behavior at the moment all the more inexplicable to me.

The new Queen Anielle was regal and magnificent, standing at the head of the carriage while the rest of us were seated and the carriage began moving forward again. Her dress was a scintillating silver fringed with Royal blue, dotted with pearls that seemed to pelt us like hail as she bent to kiss us both. “We have been wondering when you two would show your faces to us at last.” Ah, so that was it… our timing had left these humans impatient, never a good thing.

My eyes stayed on Anielle as she resumed her post, standing with one hand on the flower-wrapped railing, the other raised to all and sundry gather about on the streets or on balconies, or hanging from the open windows all around. Here was a woman who combined greatness and _good_ ness in a way that made everyone she met feel safe, and enchanted. It was no gift of birth that gave her that power. Anielle had put every day of her long apprenticeship to good use. She had studied well in the Palace, under Phedre at Montreve, and in Tiberium for 309 days, 308 of which I insisted on spending in that crumbling and dissolute town and watching over her from a discrete distance, for the most part. There was no repeat of the misadventures that had characterized Imriel’s time there. She had also spent a year in Alba, yet what she was best-known for was her travels within Terre d’Ange itself. ‘The Summer-Princess’, they had taken to calling her, for whenever the weather permitted she had been traveling hither and yon, getting to know every town, village and estate in the realm.

Anielle had not only been learning her Country, she had been putting her education to practical use.

Now 40, she looked as if she were still in her twenties, even by local standards. This despite the fact that she had a Husband (now riding at the head of her Personal Guards, a story in itself*) and several children now grown past the point where they needed a mother to dote on them.

The timing could not have been more perfect, and Terre d’Ange was poised for great things.

 

“I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see you! And the both of you, wearing your own faces at last!” Imriel sat close to me, making me press into Sushulana’s side. In a lower voice he added; “You have cover stories prepared, of course?”

“Naturally!” My mate was as ebullient as the humans around her. “I am Vanessa of Euskeria, here to be honored for my work on behalf of the orphanage you funded. You will be pleased to know that it has been closed due to lack of need for it, at long last.” She was doing her best to look the part of the thrilled nobody, still in shock at being pulled by Imriel himself into the Royal conveyance, yet Sushulana included a grin and a wink that let them know her tale was based on a happy truth. Newly independent Euskeria was recovering nicely and had the makings of a fine little ally… for Terre d’Ange. “And my mate here, he is Father Lancastra who’s temple is a secret retreat, where you two will be spending the winter in quiet contemplation of your retirement.”

“All is in readiness then?” Sidonie asked, holding Sushulana’s hand and leaning past her to look at me. I still find it marvelous how she can look me in the eyes with as little hesitation or fear as my mate does…. which is to say, none at all.

“Oh yes, Nova Angelica is eager to welcome you, in a rather casual way. The twins, on the other hand, will scarcely sleep a wink until they know you have arrived safely.”

  
I thought I had been speaking as softly as the others, but Anielle said over her shoulder at her parents; “You will love it there. The whole land is like a Garden, blooming in a late spring that never ends.” Anielle had spent two seasons with us, the last visit being over twenty years ago. As a child she had been thrilled, as a teenager easily bored with our lives there. Thus it is in this world; one person’s paradise is another person’s dull little affair.

 

 

 

*Yes… the 309th day in Tiberium, when Anielle had spied a fellow d’Angeline fighting for his life. She used what she had learned from Sushulana to rescue him from death, or a life fighting in pits. The disgraced son of an exiled Barron, Jareth had returned the favor of rescue by extracting Anielle from the complications that tend to arise when defying a family of well-organized criminals. The rest, they say, is history… the more believable sort.  
Sushulana is still upset that I left that city before Anielle did, and yet I believe that the Courcel family will never believe that I didn’t have some hand in arranging the whole thing. Anielle and Jarrett got along so well, it was as if they were made for each other.

Too much credit, or too little, such is life.  
For us all, yes?


	2. 2

2

 

 

I have lived for thousands of years, risen and fallen from the heights of power more than once and somehow survived, and I have observed a good many worlds and their civilizations. I have never seen anything to equal a d’Angeline Fete’.

  
Extravagant and highly involved, yes. Garish or clumsy, never, and I was never able to figure out exactly how they are able to accomplish it all so effortlessly. I find this frustrating, even now. As an astute observer, I should have been able to compliment them in insightful ways or suggest refinements and improvements. I am not what you would call uncultured or lacking in sophistication, and yet nothing appropriate ever occurs to me. Curious, no?

Truly, a mature civilization, and so secure in their rightness. I’d had few conspiracies to untangle that represented a threat to the Courcel family or the Kingdom itself. The controversy surrounding the inclusion of Kyrnos had been handled by Sushulana’s knack for solving problems and Sidonie’s limitless sang-froid, not by anything I had done. Everything was going so well that I could walk around with my mind open to everyone without finding anything amiss, or causing any concern among the few people in the Kingdom that knew I could do that.

And still, I had the feeling that I had missed something, somewhere.

Such feelings are easy to lay aside when all is going well, and they went beautifully for the new Queen, Anielle. Every House in the Court of the Night Blooming Flowers and every Temple shut their doors so that their full memberships could take part in the celebration. From the square around Elua’s Oak to the Palace was one vast revel. In normal times, it would take minutes to travel the distance from under the red-gold foliage of that great tree to the gates of the Palace, on this day over an hour was required. At a nod from me, they knew it was safe, so the Courcels allowed the crowd to press close enough to talk and shake hands as their progress slowed to a crawl. Sushulana and I hunkered down a bit, looking humble, rather than overwhelmed.

  
There was no real danger of being recognized for what we were, half of the people still living in Europa who knew us sat in the carriage with us. When we arrived at the Palace at last, I was introduced as Father Lancastra and Sushulana put on an effervescent performance as not only the closer of an orphanage, but also as the product of that fictional institution. Her personal prohibition about lying was set aside with Fey light-heartedness because it was a _strategy_ , an effort to help her friends. In any event, no real effort on our part was required. In the Palace people spared no more than a glance and a kindly word for us, we token common folk trailing along in the wake of greatness. A phalanx of well-wishers awaited the Royal party in the courtyard, and within the great halls a dozen highly placed Nobles made us pause as they gave gifts and made speeches to us.

  
Or rather, to Anielle, and it was more than the simple fact that this was her day. For some years, she had been the _de-facto_ ruler of this realm, in deed if not in name. It was not just Sushulana and I that were fading into the shadows, it was Imriel and Sidonie as well.

  
Drustan, the Cruarch of Alba had been the first to go, a quarter of a century ago. Ysandre had lingered for a time, returning to the palace of her birth and passing quietly away. Phe’dre herself had died just a handful of years ago, in the throws of passion with her Perfect Companion according to one source, or having fallen asleep in her bathtub according to others. Joscelin had spent months mourning her, and then a few more months tidying up her estate in Montreve’. There was no mystery surrounding his death; the Casseline had passed his final Longest Night vigil kneeling _abeyante_ atop Phedre’s tomb, and was found frozen solid the next morning. Alias still lived, but had broken her back after a falling from her horse. I had been able to restore feeling, but not mobility to the lower half of her body, and she had devoted herself so fully to the lore of Alba that she had already earned the appellation “the Wise”, an honor normally reserved for posthumous award. Alais had not left her home at Clunderry for years.

  
There was one visitor from Alba that we were familiar with, and he with us. We achieved the unremarkable feat of slipping away from the gathering unnoticed while Queen Anielle was giving a speech of her own. Imriel and Sidonie were smiling again, in a different way as they followed us now, looking for all the world like a pair of teenagers playing a prank and getting away with it. We passed behind a curtain and around a corner into a narrow hallway devoid of Guards… and found ourselves confronted by the Master of the Straits.

  
Hyacinth, the last survivor of his generation, stood squarely in our path. Well into his tenth decade and looking his age, he leaned on his staff and regarded us in a way that completed the illusion of the Master catching errant children in the act.

  
“Hmm, no geas, no subtle manipulations?” Power and authority radiated from him like heat from a blacksmith’s forge. I thought for a moment that he was in earnest, and using his eldritch ways to make certain that we were not spiriting the retired Royals away for some dire purpose.

  
Naturally, Sushulana made as if this had never occurred to her. “No, ‘fraid not, Merrin and I are actually going along with this of our own free will.”  
The hoary old wizard smiled at her, and sensing that it was genuine, I smiled as well.

  
“It is well that you will be the last one to see us off, o’ Prince of Travelers.” Imriel stepped up to shake the hand that was not holding his staff and putting his other hand on Hyacinth’s shoulder.

  
“The last… you are not leaving through the Temple of Star-Crossed Lovers?” The old wizard knew of our plans, but not all the details.

  
“No.” Sidonie stepped in and hugged Hyacinth as Imriel let him go. “Of late, there have been rumors that more people enter that temple than leave it. We will not be lending any credence to those rumors by vanishing within it ourselves.”

  
“Then, from where, here?”

  
Sushulana nodded as she stepped past Hyacinth. “A nice little room up ahead already has luggage stacked and ready for us.” She winked at him. “Aren’t you ready to ‘disappear’ yourself?”

  
“Oh, aye.” Hyacinth sighed, the accent and mannerisms of his origins submerged among those of Alba. “Our goodbyes were said all around last night, as per your instructions. We were hoping that you would be among us then, yet you remain as secretive as the _Sidhee_  of legend-“

  
Sushulana flashed him a hard glare. “I am _not_ one of those.”

  
“Indeed not, and you have your reasons. However, don’t you think that the Gods would forgive you for being a little more familiar, from time to time?”

  
“Not for a moment would I consider pushing it.” I had hesitated to follow her, and so Sushulana had to double back to put her arm around me. “This is how we are earning our forgiveness, why burden our Gods with yet more to overlook?” _Our_ forgiveness, she says, being her incredible self without a thought. Sushulana takes on what she believes is her share of the guilt for what I did to Carthage, and has been since before our rapprochement began. She would have done her best to prevent it had she been able, and yet she stands at my side before anyone on or above the Earth, ready to do everything in her power to help me shoulder guilt of it all. 

  
There are people out there who wonder how it is possible that a Dragon could ever learn anything of love. Such people must never have known anyone like Sushulana.  
I did not resist as she pulled me along with her, past the other three to allow them a private farewell. Given the length of the journey and Hyacinth’s advanced age, we had to allow for the fact that it might be a final farewell. There was also a certain amount of friction between us, or between Hyacinth and my mate. I saw her glance back at the legendary Master of the Straits as we opened a humble little door and stepped into the room beyond. “I still think I could take him.”

  
“Oh, really?”

  
“Hell yeah! So what if he’s ten times as powerful as I am, when was the last time he won a battle?”

  
“When was the last time _you_ did?” Yes, I was undiplomatic and perhaps rude, but let’s not forget who I was talking to.

  
Sushulana shrugged and nodded. “Good point.” Uh oh, melancholy? I still had a dread of such moments, but by then they seldom lasted long. “I think you can drop the _disapproving elder_ look now. Smile.” She nudged my ribs with an elbow that found a ticklish part of my ribs unerringly. “We’re going home!”

  
I chuckled and lit a lamp. Sushulana made a harsh sound in the back of her throat. She was surveying the pile of baggage; three trunks, a pair of valises and a couple of customized saddles that came complete with all the accessories. We had asked them to pack light, and perhaps this was their idea of the bare minimum for a six-month stay in a place unknown to them. Even so, I could not help rolling my eyes at Sushulana, and offering up a helpless shrug. She would have been happy with what she could have stuffed into two saddlebags and a satchel if she herself had to spend half a year away from home.

  
Home, the one we had made, not Terre d’Ange… would she be able to spend more time here in this Kingdom that had called out to her from worlds away, were it not for me?

I’m not supposed to have that sort of thought in my head, but there it was. Best not to let her ever know it. I petted the underside of her chin until she was looking up at me. “What do you mean, ‘ _look_ ’? If I don’t have the right to be the disapproving elder around here, who the hell does?”

 

 ***

“You can open your eyes now.”

  
My method of navigating the Overworld is somewhat different from the way Sushulana does it. We all sat in a circle atop the royal baggage, holding hands with our legs dangling from the large trunks and Sushulana straddling the saddles. When our dear friends opened their eyes they gasped, shook their heads, and Imriel let out a long, low whistle.

  
Here, it was nighttime with a half-moon illuminating the landscape. We sat on a grassy knoll with the sound of the ocean filling our ears, but difficult to see from where we sat. True to form, Sidonie’s nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air, her eyes going wider. “It smells like Spring here!”

  
Sushulana was the last to release the hands she was holding, and leaned back on the saddle as she watched the rest of us stand up. “Told you so.”

  
There was a low fence around the place we had emerged from the Overworld, meant to keep livestock and other wandering beasts away from my chosen landing place. Standing atop the trunks. the landscape was more clearly revealed to our guests. To the east and west there were rolling, grassy fields, soft and inviting for bare feet. North was the sea, the surf concealed by the sudden drop-off that was just fifty paces away. Purple-black clouds silvered by the moonlight limned the horizons. To the south, the rolling hills soon gave way to forested valleys where Palms and leafy green trees dwelt side by side, and a small river wound through a distant valley.  
“Gorgeous!” Sidonie exclaimed.

  
“Impressive.” Imriel pronounced it, knowing that we would have chosen our personal dwelling place carefully. He stepped back down onto the grass and rapped his knuckles on the fence. “And, hopefully, not as barren of shelter as it appears at first glance.”

  
Sushulana grinned up at him. “Look to the east.” Our guests looked the wrong way. “Oh, sorry, the Moon is to the _north_ , here, sorry. “

  
There are Worlds apart from this one that might have been less disorienting to them than the place where I had brought them, the bottom half of the planet they had lived on all their lives.

  
An indentation of the rocky coastline allowed them to see some of the cliffs common to this area. This outcropping appeared to be dotted with caves, the largest of which was at sea-level and awash with frothy waves. Atop the cliffs were more rolling fields that were dotted with little gardens and piles of rubble. Sidonie joined Imriel, and hugged him as lights began to appear in the ‘caves’. I had mentally notified those that dwelt within, and the reception was being made ready, lamps were lit was we watched, and the Royal visitors could see a little of the rooms that had been hollowed out of those cliffs.

  
Glimpses of carpets and furniture within made Imriel look back at Sushulana. “You didn’t tell us about this!” When Anielle had last been here, the most substantial dwellings had been made of wood in the Chowatti manner, and roofed with straw or palm fronds. “It’s like a mansion in there.”

  
_More like a palace when we finish it_ , I did not vocalize, nor did I mention that they could not see a vast chamber on the other side, where Sushulana and I could sleep as Dragons together. I also cautioned Sushulana from mentioning such things, in our silent way. It would not do, having our guests begin their visit by making them wonder just how permanently we planned to live here. We wanted this to be a happy time for them, a proper beginning for their retirement.This would certainly more enjoyable than a winter in austere contemplation at some Siovalese monastery, for one and all.

It may have been wrong, but I smiled, just a little, to see the reaction when the nearest sally-port opened. Halfway to the mansion a section of the turf lifted slowly, as would a trap door. Sidonie took a half step back, not able to take a full step back as Imriel gripped the fence tight with one hand and Sidonie's arm more tightly with the other. Torchlight was visible under the door, and then the people bearing the light came into view. Imriel snorted out a sharp laugh, “It’s like the Alban tales, what do they call it, a _Barrow_ , yes?”

  
“Yes, something like that, but our’s is solid rock inside. Nice and cool in the dog-days of summer, as you soon shall see.” Sushulana gave the people approaching us a friendly wave, and flashed a sign to them that all was well. I did not mind the redundancy, my mate is not the Gadfly people often take her for.

  
“Are these your Guards?” Sidonie asked, as the score of welcomers approached with a steady, formal pace

.  
“No.” Sushulana answered her, pursing her lips with mock disappointment. “No guards, no Army either.”

  
“Paradise indeed.” Sidonie smiled at Imriel, and then looked at Sushulana, putting her fingertips to her mouth in equally mocking sympathy. “Oh, my poor Companion, no battles? You must be perishing of boredom!”

  
“Boredom is the least of our issues.” I said quickly, cutting into the conversation before Sushulana could tell her friend and Companion that it was very easy to have wars without the aid of an army. The less they knew about the occasional tribal conflicts to the north and west of us, the better. “Ah, right one cue. Here come a pair of reasons why it is so rarely quiet here.”

  
The welcoming party had split into two columns and came to a halt. They turned to face each other just as the clatter of hooves and some high-pitched whooping sounded from the open doorway. A pair of riders emerged, coming at full gallop down the gap between the columns. So full of life in all its vigor, thrilled to have their parent’s beloved friends here at long last, an eager to show themselves off to the only d’Angeline people they had met in half a lifetime who would be _returning_ to that Kingdom.

Talyn and Savannah, the people for whom this palace was being built for, although they were not aware of it yet. My offspring.

  
_Mine_ … and, thank the Gods, Sushulana’s as well. Without her experience to guide me, there can be no doubt that I would have made a mess of their upbringing. She did a masterful job of keeping us all grounded, connected to the world around us, humbled by the responsibility our power and our Gods granted us, and made us a bit more modest. Even so, I found myself liable to many of the foibles of parenting, and liable to the conviction that my children were somehow kinder, quicker to learn, more beautiful and capable than anyone else’s.

  
The pair of them split up, squealing through toothy grins as they rode around the small corral and passed each other on the far end. Coming back around again, they dismounted with a maneuver that made Sushulana bite her lip and Sidonie’s jaw drop. Both of them, leapt from the saddle and dashed along the top of the fence for some distance at a flat-out run. Near to us, they dove from the railings and hit the ground rolling, turning a few somersaults before coming to a stop directly in front of Imriel and Sidonie. Neither of them were panting as they knelt in precisely the right courtly manner and said in gleeful unison; “Welcome to Nova Angelica!”

  
My ‘conviction’, did I say? Well, mine do tend to be well-founded.

  
“Talyn?” He had happened to roll to a halt before Sidonie. I could understand her hesitation to name him. She had last seen our children after Anielle’s later visit, we all had accompanied her back to the city of Elua. Both of them had appeared to be the equivalent of 7 or 8 years old in human terms. Our mixed-breed babies had been slow to grow to the maturity they now displayed. Talyn had snowy hair that seemed to be flecked with silver in the moonlight. Nearly as tall as I, lanky is perhaps the term used to describe his build in his 'teen years', he did indeed have a look about him that was similar to mine. He also wore his hair short, displaying his somewhat Elfin ears and a fine edge to his features that came from his mother. He also had a wild and woolly way about him that certainly wasn’t from my side of the bloodline.

  
“Savannah?” Imriel knelt before my daughter, looking at her closely, and his surprise was even more forgivable. Her hair had darkened from the strawberry blond of her youth to something that was nearly auburn, while her skin had inexplicably brightened from a match for her brother’s olive complexion to the shade of light, sweet honey. A head taller than her mother, she was indeed statuesque and elegant in form as well as in the way she moved. Born twins, our children had grown to the point where they barely looked as if they were related to each other.

  
“Showing off already?” Sushulana inquired with some asperity, arms folded under her breasts and tapping one foot.

  
I gave her a lopsided grin, one eyebrow raised. Time to lay aside the persona of the disapproving elder, indeed. “They get that from _you_ , you know.”


	3. Chapter 3

  **3**

 

 

We next saw to it that Imriel and Sidonie met the rest of the people that had come out to greet them, and we did so quickly. It was necessary to see them off to bed before the sun rose, so that they could begin to adjust to the day-night cycle in this part of the world. Among the little gathering were five d’Angeline folk, seven of the local sea-faring Moriori people, and the remaining 12 were a mix of the two.

Thus it was that Sidonie and Imriel met the majority of the people that dwelt inside our Palace by the sea. A little more than half this number slept inside, ready to take up their duties at another time of the day. Our Royal guests also met two of the mixed-blooded youngsters that served here, and now would serve them personally during their stay. Ranomay for Sidonie and Anghuin for Imriel, the very names being a fusion of what had found it’s way to this land during our tenure here.  
And to other places, as well.

While Sidonie practiced a mental exercise that Sushulana had taught her to file all the names away in her head, forever (doing a better job with that particular tool than the one who had taught it to her ever had), Imriel admitted his bemusement at a accoutrement that all of our staff had worn to this gathering. Each of them, females included, had a helmet made of polished turtle shell on their heads. Atop the helmets were torches bring brightly, compressed Beeswax and sawdust giving off light very efficiently. Knowing how ridiculous them must look to him, I was about to explain them when Sushulana did so for me.

“The helms are nice and light, and good for protecting the head from falling bits of stone while carving out this little home of ours. The torches on top are there so that the wearer does not have to hold the light source, they can work with both hands unimpeded. The work is nearly finished, but we have grown fond of them, and they can still be useful, yes?”

“Yes, a fine little display.” Imriel nodded at the entrance to what awaited them below. “Also a way to help our eyes adjust to the lighted interior of your home, yes?”

  
“You don’t miss much, do you?”

“Oh, we miss more than you would imagine, these days.” Imriel took his wife by the hand, and many-layered look passed between them. “But nothing on earth could make us miss a chance to visit you here. Shall we?”

I daresay, it made an impression on them. The stone itself was more brightly colored than was apparent from outside, even in the moonlight. A very light tan color, almost off-white with layers of yellow and some soft browns here and there. We had learned to reflect the light of lamps from the ceiling, giving a very even amount of light without any glare. Helmets were discarded as half the staff ran ahead to make preparations while the other half stayed with us in what they hoped would be an echo of the entourage our guests were used to.

First, we passed the stables, where the twins were left behind, seeing to their mounts and the other horses kept there. Next were some incomplete galleries, and after that the residence proper. The walls were smoother here, revealing all the striations in the rock around us. The floor was glass-smooth, and we had to caution our guests to remove their shoes lest they run the risk of slipping. Sushulana was already barefoot, as were many of the staff. Other’s, including myself, wore sandals of gummed rope. “A pair of these will be ready for you by the time you awaken next.” Ranomay assured them in perfectly fluent d’Angeline. “We apologize for not having some ready for you now, but it was thought that it would be more seemly if your Graces were given pairs that were custom made for you.”

“I see,” Imriel nodded judiciously. “You would like to measure us now, I take it?”

Ranomay gave him a curious look, the one break from her perfectly neutral poise that she had yet permitted herself. “Whatever for? I have seen your feet, all will be taken care of now.” She and Anghuin went ahead to see to the lighting in the chamber we used for a parlor, and whatever else they thought needed doing in there.

“ _Seen_ our feet?” Sidonie asked Sushulana out of the side of her mouth before we entered the room, and then to me; “Something of an artist, I take it?”

“A perfectionist.” I admitted.

“Ah, don’t get me started.” Sushulana waved a hand in front of her face, as if shooing a fly away. “But have no doubt, your new slippers will fit perfectly, and give you such a sure grip that you will be able to walk on wet ice.”

The Royals shook their heads, and correctly guessed at the sort of competition the chance to serve them had caused, and then they gasped as they entered the Parlor. The room itself was nearly the size of a small ship’s hull, inverted. The ceiling was indeed arched to bear the weight of the cliffs above, and at the far end of the room there was a balcony with dark sea and skies beyond. There was also a good deal of comfortable furniture in here, much of it arranged subtly to allow groups of people to pursue separate activities.

 _Dragons need their space,_  Sushulana would say, and my rejoinder would be “And certain Elves never _do_ , apparently.”

What really drew their attention was the floor. Unlike the other floors, I had not simply vented fire on it to melt it until it was flat and smooth. Here I had indulged in my hobby of stone-working and make a parquet floor. As was the case with the marble we had given Anielle when she was a toddler, it was a map of this world. This, however, was flat, and filled nearly half the floor. I had been meticulous in my choices of stone, using ripples in the veins of the stone to simulate mountains, and different colors to show water, forested belts or deserts and other wastelands. A quarter of the map was covered by an Akkadian carpet, somewhat at odds with the rest of the arrangements. Upon the carpet were set chairs and a table that did not merely simulate d’Angeline decor, but had in fact been imported from that place. We guided them to those familiar chairs as they looked about in wonder. The map would occupy them later, for now they gazed at the fossils we had discovered during our excavations and saved. They were mounted in the walls; swarms of primeval fish, a Salamander the size of a Lion, and a broken but still recognizable Nautilus.

“How?” Imriel asked, looking around at everything, no detail escaping his notice. “How did you do all this?”

This time, it was my turn to explain. “You are aware that Dragons need shelter from time to time, and that we tend to grow rather large in the fullness of time. There is a limit to how many natural caverns you are likely to find in any given world of the right size, so we have the ability to claw our way through stone, at need.”

“Through… solid stone?” He glanced at Sushulana as she settled into a chair of familiar proportions.

My mate nodded. “Yes, but its not as easy as he makes out, and there is a certain technique that you have to keep in mind unless you don’t mind a whole mountain coming down in your head. I mostly just watch & measure.”

“We are following the designs _you_ laid out.” I reminded her. Imriel was looking around again, full of questions, so I prompted him; “Yes?”

“That explains the scale of this place, somewhat… but, the overall finish, the details.” He waved at the railing of the Balconey which was of one piece with the surrounding rock. His gesture was that of so many elderly Humans; a pointed and complete statement in itself. "How could something huge and powerful enough to carve tunnels through the cliffs that were large enough for half a dozen people to walk abreast, also leave such polished and delicate details in his wake?

  
“The staff do their part.”

“Ah, yes, the helmets.” Imriel took a seat next to mine, opposite the women. “And I suspect a fair amount of spell-magic is in play, too.”

Sushulana winked at him, and crooked a finger at Ranomay and Anghuin. A light dinner of fresh vegetables prepared in the d’Angeline way arranged around a steamed Lobster tail was quickly served, with a bottle of white wine from Caerdicci Unitas. The wine was chilled, an easy enough thing to accomplish using weighted baskets lowered into the ocean, but our guests still raised eyebrows at us.

“Not what Anielle’s descriptions lead you to expect?” Sushulana happily explained the new situation. “We were living in houses of rammed earth and timbers then, and the food was rather rustic. Exotic too, but we want to ease you into that sort of thing. Sid, Imri, you will need some time to adjust to Nova Angelica, and we have all the time you need. For the next few days we will serve food you are used to, and ease your pallets towards what is more common here. You will eat when _you_ are hungry, rest when you are tired, and no matter how long you need to become comfortable with our schedule, we’re ready to accommodate you. I would like to see you to bed before the sun rises, it actually _IS_ the Dinner hour back where you got up this morning.”

Our uniquely open-minded guests simply smiled at Sushulana, trusting her… and myself, to have thought of everything. Here they were, without any retinue at all, and perfectly content to be that way. It was not the first time, I had often reflected on that night in Cytheria, and most especially on what Sidonie had shouted in my face when Sushulana had lain dying at our feet. “ **No, you idiot, _help me aim this thing_!** ” Then she had freed me, the most deadly monster that she could have imagined.  
Sidonie had freed me from more than she had imagined in that moment. It was she that started me down the path that has lead me to where I am today.

 

We chatted companionably about various things that were important only to us over dinner. I am very glad that I have learned to converse in ways solely intended to convey appreciation for, and the enjoyment of, the people in my life. After the meal and the aperitif and been cleared away we rose to wander about the room before seeing the Royals to their chambers. I was trying to explain the fossils to Imriel when we happened to glance over at Sushulana and Sidonie as they were strolling about the floor, examining the map. The Queen-Mother was still a magnificent example of poise and beauty, yet her 65 years had left her somewhat inflexible. She wanted to get a closer look and found it difficult to do so, and we had no stools close at hand. Sushulana is known for being somewhat impatient, and also for solving problems as if the rest of the world was equally impatient with her.

“Stand with your feet apart.” she asked Sidonie, who did so as best she was able. Sushulana promptly went to the floor on hands and knees and slid between those legs from behind. “Alright, sit on my hips… there you go. Okay, we are right here…”

Sidonie did her best to follow along, but she had to put her fist to her chest and bite her lip to stifle a giggle as she sat astride the Elf, who went about explaining our little corner of the world, poised as the world’s smallest Pony.

Imriel shot me a glance, bemused but not surprised by Sushulana’s methods. _Still_?

I shrugged back _Always_.

We joined them there, Imriel’s knees gave him only a little trouble as we squatted. I am proud of my creations, and this map was a special labor. Here, I had used hand-tools in addition to my other talents, and spent weeks making it all come together in a way that was both accurate and easy to read. A tiny red stone, not much larger than a grain of sand, marked our location. Tiny, yet easy to find, it was the only place marked by red on the whole floor.

“That’s North Island, we lived there for the longest time. Its lush and everything just seems to work so well there, that’s where most of the people are. Its always warm, or hot, over there. Here on South Island its cooler, tomorrow you will be able to see mountains to the south of us with snow still on the peaks. Fewer people, but even more potential for agriculture as d’Anglines know how to practice it. Here,” Sushulana pointed out a place facing the channel between the islands. “is the best natural harbor, folks are already starting to congregate there. it will probably become the main city once there are enough people here to have what can be called a City.”  
She shifted a little to her left. “Here is another Island, this one had no people at all. People coming to us from Europa that desire solitude or have trouble getting used to the Moriori folk are transported there.”

“That is a pretty large island in and of itself, and several days away by sail.” The Queen mother sounded impressed, and kept her hands busy by gathering Sushulana’s hair up. As she began weaving it into braids, she asked. “What is that one called, West?”

  
“Nah, we call that one Sidonia.”

“You didn’t!” Sidonie back-handed Sushulana’s shoulders softly and leaned in for a closer look at the Island that bore her name. The rich green of it faithfully indicated how lush it was, and the rolling nature of the terrain. Larger than any island in the Southern Sea, and for more comfortable to live on, and completely unknown to anyone that lived in Europa. We planned to take the Royals there in late Summer, towards the middle of their stay here. “D’Angeline’s live there, of all places. Imagine that, Imri. Do they know we will be visiting them?”

She had looked up at me to ask that, and I nodded. “They have been anticipating this for years, now.”

“Oh my.” She shook her head, and then her smile brittled. “D’Angelines that don’t get along with the…. Moriori?”

“Not their fault, more about that later.” Sushulana’s ability to carry a woman about on her back was not unlimited, and she shuffled a little way forward to point out the next feature on the map. Depending on one’s standards, it was either the largest Island in all the world, or it’s smallest Continent. “This land is just one big desert except for bits of the coast. This part here is the best of it, nearest to us. Our contact is limited, a few of your more adventurous people can be found there, and the natives there are more established than those here. Ancient, I suspect, they are as dark as Jebbeans and have a knack for dealing with a harsh environment with a good sense of humor.”

Sushulana shuffled to the last feature she wanted to show Sidonie, a diagonal slash of an island that was much smaller than other places she had just described, yet still a very respectable bit of land. It was as far north of where we were standing as North and South Islands were long, put together. “Velikaluria. Parts of it remind me of my homeland, so I named it that way, somewhat.”

“You name all of these places?” Imriel asked.

“No, Merrin gets to name the big one, but he can’t come up with anything but The Vast, yet… _Sid_ , what are you _doing_?”

Of all my memories of that visit, this is the one that stands most clearly in my mind. Sidonie had just finished twining Sushulana’s hair into twin braids, and she began to flip them as one would with a horse’s reins, rocking back and forth with a soft “ _giddyup girl_!” It was the smile she flashed us that undid me, I had to turn away with one hand covering my face as Imriel helped his wife to her feet, and Sushulana collapsed to the floor, laughing with a gusto.

  
I _**had**_ to turn away.

That smile she had given us… it showed the lines in her face more clearly than I had ever seen them. Her fine smile was also marred by her teeth, gone gray with age. The worst part was the hint at vapidity I had seen in her eyes, a preview how her sharp mind could deteriorate in her dotage.

The depth of my reaction to all this mortality surprised me. After the passing of Barquiel L’Envers, I had counted Imriel as my finest friend in Terre D’Ange. Sidonie had been _Sushulana’s_ special friend, a truly beloved one. Ah, but I have already mentioned what she has done for me, she who had outwitted the Unseen Guild on our behalf and had given us this new life as surely as the Gods themselves had. Sidonie and Imriel would be leaving this world together, as surely as Phe’dre and Joscelin had, leaving a yawning void in our lives and between Terre d’Ange and Nova Angelica, when they did.

“What did we miss?” Talyn called out as he and his sister entered the room, eyeing his mother curled up in a ball on the floor. Savannah was the only person in the room to sense my true mood, and she went to me as swiftly as she could without drawing undue attention. She gave my belt a light tug looked up at me with eyes that were so reassuring that I felt my mood lighten before anyone else could notice it. Savannah is my true heir, in temperament and intellectual capacity we have much in common, and she did not need to use any of her empathic talents to pull me back from the edge of a black depression.  
Life goes on, in the most literal sense.

Blissfully unaware of my emotions, Imriel answered Talyn. “Oh, your parents were just showing us their little Empire.”

I don’t care for that naming of it, but some titles are hard to leave behind. Emperor, I had once styled myself as such, for selfish reasons. Now, here on the best of all possible worlds, I found myself shouldering the mantle under very different circumstances.

My children laughed politely, watching me carefully when they thought our guests were not watching them. Sushulana bounded to her feet and walked up to me, “This part is your tale to tell, yes?” she said as she wrapped her arms around my mid-section and laid her head on my chest. My mate would stay that way, her ear over my heart, for as long as she thought I would like her to be there. I didn’t mind at all, company or no.

While Tayln hunted around for glasses and a bottle of his latest concoction, a surprisingly smooth Papaya brandy, the rest of us drifted to a collection of comfortable chairs arranged around a low table. Savannah sent Ranomay and Anghuin off to get some rest before they started to totter and yawn, and I composed my thoughts.

 

(to be continued, of course)


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

 

“I know it looks as if we are building an Empire here, but that is not the real truth of it. Essentially, we have plunged into a vacuum.” I was glad that the servants had left, I could now speak freely in the d’Angeline language. I also had to speak quickly, before our guests began to nod off. “You have the Moriori, a few of them. I’m not sure if you noticed, but those under 30 years of age have a winsome beauty to them, and those over 30 deteriorate quickly, becoming overweight with heavy features and loosing much of what grace they had. Yes, I know I am saying more than anyone could have noticed from such a small sample, but the point is this; when we arrived, and for years after that, we had no idea this was the case.”

Imriel and Sidonie glanced at each other, and the Prince consort ventured; “They kept their elders hidden from you?”

“There _were_ no elders.” I paused to let that idea penetrate. “Not one person in 20 lived much longer than those 3 decades, and none at all were making it past 40.”

“Why?” Sidonie could not understand it. “This place, its called a paradise, what was happening to them?”

“It _is_  a fine place when you have things like metal tools, animal husbandry and good agriculture. These islanders had none of those things working for them when they arrived here, and certain deficiencies in their diet that affected their health severely. The nutrition derived from meat was the most notable issue, one they relied on Fish to solve. Fish come and go, and there were also no large animals on the small northern isles they had come from. So, not only did the hazards of daily life kill many of them, they aged more quickly as well. Even those that survived a certain number of years were still weakened, and those still alive were subjected to tests from time to time. Those that failed, that were too weak to contribute to the tribe’s well-being were cannibalized .” I held up my hand. “Its not something that we talk about anymore, it is very much regretted and a thing of the past, done out of dire need. Of course, there were some d’Angeline who could not get past the idea that they were rubbing shoulders with the children of cannibals.”

“And so, Sidonia”

“Just so, Highness. They are doing well there, free to claim as much land as they can actually use, or fill any other niche’ they can find for themselves. Here, especially on North, its a more cooperative venture. You see, the first d’Angelines hardly arrived ready to solve everyone’s problems, and were grateful for whatever shelter the locals could share with them. The partnership was important, as was everything the locals knew of the land itself. Hunter-gatherers do know a good deal about the flora and fauna, and the people we brought here were able to share what they knew about how to exploit those resources more efficiently. Every newcomer had a few good ideas and, due to the nature of their arrival, the humility to be fair about sharing what they knew. The blending of the two peoples has gone well, and swiftly, we open our doors to more than star-crossed lovers. Those that were contemplating suicide back in Europa can bloom like flowers here, being so useful and important to the people around them is the perfect tonic for what ailed them. Tribes compete for the honor of hosting the orphans that have arrived here. The handful of Priests that you allowed us to recruit, the ones that yearned to have the Missionary experience, have been a boon beyond measure. Naturally, Eisheth was particularly welcome here, and now we have one from each of the other sects.”

“It sounds as if you have your Empire well in hand, however much of a hand _ful_ it all must be for you. What sort of Governance do you have here?” Sidonie asked, clearly wondering how much all of this had distracted us from affairs at Terre d’Ange, and our mission there.

“The absolute minimum. Government is not something people here can afford to support here yet, nor is it needed for anything aside from peace-keeping and the occasional ceremony of unity and belonging.”

Talyn smiled, and I was a little surprised to have Savannah interrupt me with a laugh. “There is more to it than that, certainly more than the hobby-level interest than my Father would have you think. But yes, the notion that a fire-breathing Dragon or a battle-wise Elf could be unhappy with them has helped keep even the hard-cases nice and civil.” She smiled and sat up proudly. “Best of all, now that Talyn and I are of age, we will be able to do our part, and manage our increasingly complex situation.”  
Surprised again, I listened to her say rather more than was needful that night. She is not _entirely_ my child, as Sushulana would tell you.

“Things are becoming difficult?” Imriel looked ready to lend a hand himself, right then and there.

“The population is growing by leaps and bounds. Once again, a small sample, but did you notice how well the bloodlines mix in this very household?” It has started a veritable mania for cross-breeding…. would you mind not smiling like that, my love?” Sushulana had been quiet since I had started, but she wasn’t being particularly helpful now. “A natural reaction I will allow, but it has been a distracting one. Now that we have the basics of life covered, moving on to a more ordered and promising civilization is not going to happen with any speed or ease. We lack too many things.”

“What things?”

“Well, for one thing, we have no rich people.”

Sidonie shot Sushulana a significant look. “I would not have thought you would miss them, of all people.”

“Well as they say, you don’t know what you will miss until it’s gone. What we need are people with a surplus of something, capitol to risk and a hunger for something more. We won’t have many real towns or commerce until we have more of those.“

 “Don’t the people give you some sort of tribute?”

“Yes, that’s what half the servants here started out as. Certain of us have quickly disabused everyone involved regarding the merits of slavery.” Sushulana smiled. “They also send us some of the surplus foodstuffs and some of the furnishings you will see here. Other than that, we have nothing to show for it all aside from a couple of ships. Yes, we do have a few, the largest makes runs between here and Sidonia.”

“Ah, so its solitude, but not isolation over there?” The Queen Mother was much relieved.

“Oh no, in fact L’Indiscrete was here, 3 days ago, in anticipation of your arrival.”

“Really?”

“Yes, we sent it back with a load of cargo and an admonition not to return until next month. Nothing is going to be rushed while you are here.”

  
“L’Indiscrete, you say?” Imriel asked with a wink at Sushulana.

“Oh yes, he did owe me a ship, after all.” She put an arm over my shoulder and went on to reassure the Royals; “This one is much larger, Private cabins and all the other amenities.”

Sidonie pouted. “No pillow-pit?”

 _No, princess-that-was_ , I thought, _and no going back to what used to be, as I know better than anyone alive_.

Savannah looked at me with some concern, and I smiled with a tiny shake of my head. Melancholy is something I never permit myself.

Sushulana clicked her tongue at Sidonie, and said to me; “Perhaps that bed we had built for the guest room was a wasted effort? Pity, I rather like the eiderdowns.”

“Let’s not be hasty!” Imriel stood up, and held out his hand to Sidonie. “Let us see for ourselves, yes my Queen?” We said our goodnights and let Talyn and Savannah show them to their rooms. Our children had put a great deal of effort into making them just so. It was an interior room, windowless yet the ventilation was more than adequate. There were no doors in our dwelling place, only curtains for privacy, and the one for their room was adorned with bells that would ring at the slightest touch.

As soon as we were alone again, Sushulana asked; “Must you leave so soon?”

“Yes, before any word of what became of the Comte’ can reach Arras.” I explained the assassination attempt (such as it was) to her in more detail. “I did mention how we are lacking in rich people, perhaps she and her daughters can bring something of value with them.”

“Gold, silver?” she scoffed.

“We can’t remain a barter economy forever, the d’Angelines would certainly accept it.”

She shook her head and hugged me. “But we have been awake for the better part of three days! I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

“As do I, which means I probably will when I let myself relax. By then, it will be too late to help them. And no, I don’t want you to make another Gate, not as tired as you are. Go to bed, rise with our guests and tell them what I am up to. In fact, but then I will be asleep in the grotto.” This was what we had named the cavern, mostly a natural creation, where we could sleep in Dragon-form.

“I never sleep well without you.”

“You will tonight. Hmmm, _today_ rather, and if you don’t go now you won’t rise until well after our guests are awake.”

“Our children will be there for them. I -“

I stopped her with a sudden kiss, I have learned that it is the best way to do so. “They didn’t come here just to see the twins, they are here for _us_. You are not coming with me, understand?” She did. “And there will be a new family here, what I can persuade to come here after I have roused them in the middle of the night.”

  
“Your bringing them _here_? Oh, right, the Royals, that should make it all more palatable for them. We don’t get many aristocrats here…. only the disgraced sort.”

“Until recently. I’ll be up and about as soon as these old bones of mine permit me to rejoin you. Have Talyn wait up for me.”

“Not Savannah?”

I smiled, my mate was more aware than anyone else who may favorite was. “No, I need someone that will still be wide awake and ebullient by day after a night of running hither and yon, and that is our son.” I paused, and before stepping out. “It would be best if he didn’t have the scent of one of his girlfriends on him when we return.”

 

  
One step, one thought, and I was out of our home and-

… _discontinuity_ …

-then I was hurtling through the Overworld.

it is impossible to describe this place that is _all_ places with words. Sidonie did a masterful job of hinting at it, with her champagne siphon of glass tubes lit with multicolored lamps. At a glance, it may appear to be something like that, unless you are trying to navigate it. When you are doing that, you must be able to concentrate on what you are trying to approach, and this is more difficult than anyone who has not done it can guess. Sushulana does so intuitively, and therefore can only go to a point already fixed in her mind before she steps into the Overworld, and a doorway on the other side or some sort is something she needs in the physical world. I, on the other hand, can see where I am going before I arrive and can navigate to a new destination halfway there if need be. This can be handy if there is something unexpected waiting at one’s destination…. or, in this case, no clear idea of how I should approach the situation waiting for me.

So it was that I halted at the very verge of the estate in Arras where the late Count’s family lay in their beds. I cannot read the thoughts of those who sleep, I have heard of few Psychics that can and met none at all myself. When asleep, people converse with themselves in a language unique to themselves, if their minds are working at all. Fortunately for me, the Comtess was awake, the only one in the house still awake besides a footman watching out for intruders. Just the latest of many sleepless nights for this woman, one Adelais by name. Hers had not been a terribly happy life, something that would hopefully change soon.

I reentered the world of Terre d’Ange right outside her door, and knocked. “Comtess’?”

“Yes?” a distracted reply, I must have sounded like one of her household.

“The Queen Mother and her Consort have requested your presence.” I grabbed the doorknob and opened the door so swiftly that the sound of the lock breaking was a minor snap. “I’m afraid there isn’t much time.”

  ***

 

It was nearly three days later when I awoke at last, and I was glad that I had not slept longer. Dragons can put off our sleep-cycle for a long time indeed, but it always catches up with us in the end. The longer we delay the inevitable, the longer our sleep must last, and it is an exponential increase. Meditation is also something that does me a great good, both as a Dragon and as a psychic, and I have made many hour-long pilgrimages to the Moon. The quiet and the solitude are of incomparable benefit to my mind. However, one hour is the longest that my body can withstand the cold and the lack of air, even with the help of my considerable powers.

Gazing back at the Earth, I am able to center myself in the midst of any sort of crisis. It also has allowed me to map this world with ease and accuracy.

Upon awaking, I stretched and went for a swim before assuming my human guise and going to meet everyone else for their midday repast. Sushulana knew I was coming and was having another place set for me at the table. The Comtess’ was there, and three days had given her time to get used to her new surroundings as well as the august presence of the Royal guests. _Their_ presence had made the transition to Nova Angelica far easier for that poor woman and her daughters. I was grateful for that, starting as I had and then easing them into the reason for their departure from their home had made the process much less upsetting than it might have been.

I had told them, and shown them with the image from my mind, what had become of the Comte’. There is no room for lies in mind-to-mind communication, and I could see that what he had done horrified them… and yet it was not a complete surprise. His rants had warned them about where he was headed, in his mind. Even the youngest daughter, barely 14, had seen enough of him to be disturbed. Not one of them had said anything to him, or to each other. So often is this the case that I have to stand back and wonder, on occasion, why the human race must be the way it is. Even in Terrre d’Ange, you people are liable to step back away from those that need your council the most. Not everyone that is annoying us is trying to push us away. Very often, those are the ones who need us the most.

 

I will not go into any more detail about Adelais and her daughters, the three loyal servants that came with them, nor about the curious assortment of items that they brought with them. At the time of this writing, one of those daughters has embarked on a long-term relationship with my son, and so the story is more their’s to tell than it is my own.

One must maintain some sense of propriety where family may be involved.

I am also distracted from going into any great detail, at this point, regarding Imriel and Sidonie’s stay with us. I suppose that if this were a more **_conventional_** story, we would have been interrupted at some point by great doings of some sort, a sudden emergency to be dealt with that would have spoiled our enjoyment but left a grand tale to be told later on.

That did not happen.

 

For a time, we gave our guests daily briefings on what was happening in Terre d’Ange. They were bemused by how detailed I could be in my observations from this great distance. In the months that followed the briefings were allowed to lapse, and by the end it was naught but a weekly mention as part of the conversation over dinner. Any question about our ability to monitor and correct any threat to their House and their Kingdom had long been laid to rest by then, their faith in us long since proven.  
As I have said, we’d had little to do. Sushulana had spoken truly in that Sidonie was the finest Queen her land would ever have, and that none would ever know it. She could sniff out a conspiracy and turn it against itself, often before we ourselves became fully aware of it. Her foreign policies gained respect and cancelled out hostilities. The greatest help we were able to render was when the young Anielle was kidnapped in Azzale by a jealous suitor and nearly spirited away across the border into the Flatlands. This bit of madness was one we had managed to arrest on the Rhenus River, at a point that just happened to be deep enough to conceal my presence. I did not have to reveal my true self, my mental tricks and Sushulana’s ferocity were more than enough to put an end to the whole affair.

That, I’m afraid, was the most dramatic incident of the last 40 years, as far as our stewardship of Terre d’Ange was concerned. The only reason it had been allowed to go as far as it had was to reveal the full extent of the conspiracy, which involved somewhat more than a love-struck nobleman.

No, there was nothing happening in Terre d’Ange to upset our guests, not that we would have allowed anything to do so.

However, there is more to the world than Europa.

During the course of that winter, summer for our part of the world, a catastrophe overtook Ch’in. In less than half a year, one person in six ceased to exist in that insular yet vast Empire, and events were set in motion that would shake the world.

And as if to prove that there is no fool like an _old_ fool, I kept what I knew of it to myself.


	5. Chapter 5

   

**5**

 

Months later, Sushulana discovered I had been holding out on her. “Just show me a doorway close to that place and I’ll go take care of it.”

How typically _her_ , and how futile it would have been in this case. “No.” I would have walked away at that point, in an earlier life I would have counted on such a gesture to emphasize the finality of my order. However, I can no longer do that, no more than I can walk away from any other part of myself. “Its not a matter of risking you, not entirely. I would go myself if I thought it worthwhile, but the Ch’in did it to themselves.”

“Oh, _what_ in the skinned-alive Hell for pederasts are you talking about _now_?”

“The Ch’in were being over-run by the Tatar, and they panicked. Some great fool of a 'wise-man' found a way to use the Plague as a weapon, and they tried to use that plague to stop the Barbarians.”

 _That_ made her stop and think. She backed away and leaned on a freeze of our salvaged fossils. “They did that to themselves, just to avoid bending the knee to the Tatar?”

“Not on purpose. Oh, there were some poorly-written orders, a detour across a bridge that collapsed under the wagons, the usual confusion in the middle of the night… and the consequences are dire this time. The Tatar have fled, few of them died, yet Ch’in is indeed free of them. They have also isolated the plague by allowing not a single person to leave the afflicted area, and some heroic people are doing all they can to save those who are suffering. The damage is done, and there is nothing that you or I could do about it. We are not Doctors, we are not experts in any field that they would need advice in. The only thing we could do is bring that plague back here to our own people.” My words would have turned anyone else away from that place, yet she persisted.

“What of the people that came up with that stuff, that _porte-plague_ itself?”

“Oh, knowing the Ch’in, their execution was a long and ghastly one. Either that, or they are stuck on the wrong side of what they call the River of Sorrows, and…”  I shrugged. A heroic death trying to undo what they had done, however futile, did seem to be the proper fate for them. Sushulana nodded at last, and started to walk away towards the balcony. Yes, we were in the Parlor again, the same as before and still a very useful room. It was also well-known to our guests.

I became aware of Imriel’s presence just before he asked; “And what of the Tatar?”

I considered that while Sushulana turned away from the balcony and went to him. “As I said, they have left Ch’in, perhaps never to return. They certainly have reason to put as much space between themselves and that place _now_ , don’t they?”

“Aye.” His use of the Alban word made me turn and look at him curiously. My mate was giving him the usual hug for greeting and she missed the meaning of the word.

“Whose eye?”

Imriel laughed and smiled at her, and then at me. “Sorry. My dealings with the Tatar have been highly varied, as you know.” Indeed we did, his memoirs were preferred reading material in my family. After his passing and he was beyond any Earthly embarrassment, they would be known all through Nova Angelica. Sushulana was also a prolific writer, yet her specialty ran to rather dry and factual studies; she wrote Textbooks. Imriel continued; “I reverted to Alban without realizing it because of a particular memory of mine, and it just occurred to me that this may have something to do with the Tatars you just mentioned.”

Sushulana blinked at me, and I could only shrug in return. “There is a Tatar that has something to do with Alba?”

“Mayhap.” His smile fled and Imriel sagged, looking so much like a tired old man that Sushulana immediately darted around him to place a chair behind him. To my eyes, Imriel looked haunted, and I have yet to see another human face that could look haunted to the depth that his could. I disliked what I saw in his face very much, and I offered to pluck the thought from his mind and have done with it. Such was the nature of the man that he simply smiled and waved me off, as if to save _me_  undue effort.

Anyone on this Earth who thinks he can measure up to _that_ man had better think carefully.

“I should talk this through to see if it makes any sense aloud, while we are alone. We are alone, yes?” Sushulana nodded, standing a bit apart from us and sending part of her awareness into the hall via one of her many spells. “You are aware that the witch Mowren showed me a glimpse of the vision that drove the Maghuin Dhonn to do…. what they did. They showed me my son that never was, a ferocious, driven leader, breaking all the rules in order to raise a vast army.”

“Yes, we know that story, but what-“ I understood what he was talking about even as I spoke the words. “Aneil, that was his name. How old was he in your vision?”

“Exactly the age he would be now, had he lived.”

I understood why Imriel was seizing the opportunity to speak about this when Sidonie was not present. Sushulana looked as keen as a Hound that had just caught the scent of something interesting. “A horde bent on over-running Terre d’Ange… you think it could be the Tatar now that they have been frustrated at Ch’in? It would be a very long detour, going from one end of the biggest land-mass in the world to another end.”

“I don’t know! It may even be a distraction from the real threat if you pay too much attention to them. All I know is that your voices carry, and for whatever reason you made a memory that I have not thought of in ages come back to me, very clearly.”

“I’m sorry-“ Sushulana was about to comfort Imriel, it was a painful memory on many levels. However, he did something that annoyed me immensely. He waved her off and turned to the next thing he wanted to talk about, and his manner was not so much that it was a Royal gesture, but more as a compassionate Grandfather imparting a teachable moment to a youngster.

I instantly turned on my heels and walked to the balcony that I might hide my reaction. Once again, I was dismayed, yet this was different from the glimpse into Sidonie’s future decline. One of the many sad facts of living so long among shorter-lived races is the way relationships tend to turn with age. I know it sounds foolish, but Humans that have achieved Patriarchal status deal with people differently, including those they have known all their lives. Sushulana looked nearly the same as she had when they met, nearly the same _apparent_ age as Sidonie had back then. And now, even if he didn’t realize it, Imriel was speaking to her as if he had matured into the senior man in the room… her elder.

Appearances can deceive Humanity to an astonishing depth.

I was so peeved that I missed the conversation they were having until Sushulana called out from halfway across the room. “Do you have any objections to that?”

  
I turned back to them with an expression that allowed them to see I didn’t know what she meant. Imriel filled me in; “Our communications are tenuous and entirely your own responsibility, Sushulana and yours. I want your mate to come back with us and find someone capable of learning that Message Spell of hers. I am feeling as if _we_ should have a way of warning _you_ of something, for a change. I can’t say why, but…. if you don’t mind?”

I think he saw some of my annoyance, and I let him think it was because of his request. I simply glanced at Sushulana and nodded. “A few months in Elua's city? I’m sure we will get along without you here while you are enjoying a proper civilization. But don’t tarry overlong, else we will have to come looking for you.”

Sushulana rolled her eyes at me, but I could feel her gratitude radiating from her. She treasured her visits to that land, and we both knew that the visits were likely to become more rare and brief in the years to come. We had nothing like the rapport with Anielle that we had enjoyed with her parents, and what we were likely to have with _her_ heirs was anyone’s guess. For my own part, I felt more free right here where we had made our home-away-from-home than in that place. Here I was not tied to my Human-appearing form and going about as my true self wasn’t liable to cause mass waves of hysteria.

“Thank you, dearest. I’ll be sure to bring you back some souvenirs. Perhaps some of those new toys they have been perfecting on Mont Nuit?” She winked at me and turned back to Imriel, who looked mildly shocked. “Oh come now, you and Sid have been married as long as we have, longer even. Surely you know how people who have been married for decades enjoy time apart once in a while?”

Imriel scratched the back of his head and shrugged. “As a matter of fact, I don’t.”

What he said was good for a laugh, because it was true and because it was wonderful, and shortly thereafter we all went to look at some Whales with smiles and light hearts.

 

In time, they left Nova Angelica along with Sushulana and Savannah, and life all over the world continued apace. There was much for me to oversee, and potential threats to avert. Plotting and counter-plots from one end of the Southern Sea to the other, Arragonian treachery in trade deals, and a mad Flatlander that attempted to make a career of killing d’Angeline Adepts with his collection of glass razors. The later was no threat to the Crown or the nation, yet I took some satisfaction in ending that lunatics activities at the outset. I was able to do so because I had attuned myself to receive the psychic resonance of d’Angelines in distress. The agony of a handful or the disquiet of a few thousand, I would be alerted and my covenant would bid me to have a closer look.

A year and a half after I had spoken of the situation in Ch’in and then shelved it as a distraction, I was alerted to the anxiety of hundreds of d’Angeline souls who found themselves in a dire situation. It was a great surprise, to me personally, to discover that this was coming from a community located 1,000 miles east of the nearest territory where the Courcel flag flew.

But then, I was hardly the only one to be surprised to discover them. Not a living d’Angline that swore allegiance to the Silver Swan of the Queen knew this colony even existed.

 

Human beings have been called herd animals in some worlds, and those are obviously worlds that no self-respecting d’Angeline need trouble themselves with. Herd animals? How ludicrous, if ten of you are walking in one direction, then chances are one of you will wander off to either side, another will sprint ahead, and at some point another of you will start walking backwards for no good reason.

I mention this because of the manner in which I have been watching over Terre d’Ange. From a vantage point such as the Moon, I can see only land-masses, and it is not land I have been tasked to watch over. It is people. The touch of angelic blood is a real and potent thing, and it has made it possible for me detect trouble via anguish among these people, no matter where you happen to be. It is also true that you must be d’Angeline in spirit as well as the flesh.

You must _believe_ that you are d’Angeline, first and foremost.

The people of Kalamach Cin did believe… and therefore I was forced to become aware of their peril, and of my failure.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am truly sorry it took so long for me to get back to this, I was re-reading some old stuff, dealing with RL and lost track of the days. 
> 
> This one isn't singing out for release like the others did, but once I sit down and get serious, it flows fairly well.... or does it?  
> Be honest, anything you have to say is welcome.

Part II  
Interlopers

 

6

 

 

What a difference 18 months can make in this world. When I stepped out of the overworld and into what I had thought to be the center of this ex-patriot settlement it was not a moment too soon. It was very nearly too late.

  
A boy of about 12 years saw me step out of thin air. I knew there was serious trouble when he did not hesitate to step around and dive right behind me. He was using me as cover, putting my body between himself and danger. So it was that I was not taken unawares with two scruffy men with a decidedly Eastern look came running straight towards me. Their faces were wild and waved swords overhead in a threatening way, and hesitated no more than the boy had in the face of my sudden appearance.

  
I am no master of Martial arts. I cannot cast lightning bolts around or cause obedient Whirlwinds to spring into being, or erect a barrier between harm and myself in the blink of an eye. Furthermore, taking control of a sentient being’s mind is a process of several steps, all of which can falter when they are in the grips of bloodlust, as these men were. And there was another thing to consider.

  
I was not armed.

  
I turned, grabbed the boy’s arm, and ran.

  
On my third step I went sideways, literally and into the Overwolrd. The all-too-solid world we had left behind was nothing but shadows now, and the Boy I had dragged along with me thought that we must have been killed to swiftly to feel any pain. He was upset that I had been killed for foolishly trying to help him… yes, foolish, that’s how he thought of me at this point. It was first clue as to what sort of society I had just involved myself in.

  
I made use of the denial flashing through his head before any of the other emotions could take his reason from him; “I can only keep us in shadows a short time, where are the rest of your people?”

  
The child didn’t question me or wonder why I asked, he pointed at a small stockade with it’s back to a crumbling bluff. In an instant we were there, and I released his arm as I dropped us back into this world. We were now standing on the rough planks of the platform running behind the top of the wooden walls. Here, I paused to take a good look around… as I should have before I had arrived.

  
The stockade was filled with people, so many that there wasn’t much room for the others that were still trying to get inside…  few of those people outside the gates would make it before they slammed shut. The outward-swinging gates would be forced closed by the press of the crowd, just as the man who had given the order for them to be closed intended. Beyond the people running to the gate, Tatar warriors, mounted and dismounted, doing what Tatar hordes are known for.

  
The town spread before me was made of wood with gray slate roofs. There were some details and proportions that had a d’Angeline look to them, and the temple of Elua was unmistakable. I dare say, it was even more elegantly rendered than the one closest to my abode on South Island… there really is no substitute for good raw material and good carpentry. Of course, there were also the Tatars, ruthlessly spoiling the view.

  
Zar, Zann, Zamin, they say. Loot, Gold, Women, a list that does not reflect any particular priority. They take what they want once they have killed or driven off the men, and they want a great deal. I decided right then and there to give them something that they would never forget.

  
An armed man was making his way towards me down the parapet. He looked every inch the d’Angeline warrior, his armor much like what a Knight of that land would wear and his sword a very traditional sort, I could see it plainly as he was holding that sword in his right hand at an aggressive angle. I gave the boy a gentle nudge towards this warrior, saying “Give me some room.” and to the warrior; “Await my return here.” This is not the sort of thing an armed man likes to hear from a stranger that he was about to question. I did not give him a chance to say anything at all, there was no time. My transformation back into my natural shape has already begun.

  
Indeed, my words had come out as a more guttural growl than humanity is capable of. It is far easier and swifter a change than going the other way, and in seconds I was my true self again …. but not yet my true size. The palisade rocked as I launched myself skyward and allowed my body to re-assume it’s proper proportions. What the people to either side of me or behind thought at that moment, I cannot say. My attention was focused solely on those ahead of me, fleeing civilians and Tatar raiders alike. Hovering over the gates, I roared at them, and used my mental powers to broadcast the meaning of my roar;

  
“TODAY, ALL TATAR MUST DIE!”

  
For the most part, this had the desired effect. All but a handful of the raiders bolted away from me, or piled out of whatever building they had been looting and attempted to gain control of their terrified horses. The handful that did not follow this pattern were nearest the stampeding townsfolk, and realized that their survival depended on staying close to those I would protect. They lunged at those people, thinking to put knives to their throats or simply to mix with those that looked more like they did. Still hovering, I seized control of the lesser minds and set half of these Tatars to fighting the rest of them. Then, I went to work on the rest of the horde.

  
I am one Dragon that is as good as his word.

  
There were over 200 of them when I began, a quarter of an hour later I held the last one left alive in my fore claw. Such a large body of armed men should have been able to harm me in some minor way, or ensure the escape of a few of them. This did not happen because they began by attempting to flee in a blind panic, and once they were clear of the town I was free to use my fiery breath. The open spaces that were normally the friend to the horse-born warrior was their doom. Have you ever had a scuffle with an outraged Swan, or any other large bird? If you have, you will remember the buffeting the wings gave you, the rapid strikes from the beak, and the unpredictable ways the feet lashed out. Now, multiply that beast by 1,000, and you have some idea of the difficulty in fighting a Dragon.

  
The man that was able to flee the farthest was the one that ended up in my claw, and I made him watch while I roasted his horse in my mouth and enjoyed my well-earned treat. This fellow had deserted his comrades, fear ruled him and I questioned him at my leisure. When he had run out of words and thoughts that mattered, I sent him on his way, having promised to speed him back to his people. To be more exact, I threw him as hard as I could in a southwesterly direction. If he survived the launch, I believe he must at least have glimpsed the place where they were encamped as he did not appear to return to Earth until he was nearly at the horizon.  
Being a Dragon, as you may imagine, can be very enjoyable.

 

My return to that town was greeted with a tight silence. The only noise came was the crackle of flames, the outskirts were dotted with burning buildings. Future historians may say that my aim was not as good as I had hoped, but the grim truth is that I had set a number of horses aflame and they had gone crashing into stables or other outbuildings while still alive and blinded by pain and fear of me. What Sushulana would have to say about this depressed me, and I ambled down the main thoroughfare grinding my teeth, shoulders slumping. Tiles and roofs shattered, I did not bother to fold my wings as I trudged up to the stockade, and sat on my haunches in the mud facing the people…. the d’Angeline folk who’s mental panic had summoned me. They did not look very angelic, the stockade walls were lined with men pointing Pole-arms at me. The tallest roofs behind them were covered with civilians, some armed with bows, every pair of eyes fixed on me.

  
“You must leave this place immediately. Take what you can and go back to your primary settlement, Kalamach Cin.” I told them in the language of their ancestors. “You will have to march through the night, but by dawn you will have gone too far for them to stop you, I will escort you that far.”

  
“Who are you to take us from our homes?” shouted the man that had been approaching me when I had been standing on that well. A brave fellow to be sure.  “Why should we?”

  
I should have anticipated such a question, and that one person in this mob of hundreds facing me would have the nerve to ask it. What I had learned from that Tatar had fouled my mood, ever more than Sushulana’s reaction to my cruelty to horses could, and just to make things fair I decided to share what I had learned with that brash Knight, and everyone else there.

  
“Because I have just learned that I have been dragged into a war and I am in no mood to muck about.  
Because this was no raid, these Tatar Mercenaries are acting on the behest of their Il-Khan, not their Ephesian pay-masters.  
Because they came here to draw your Army out so that the rest of their comrades could ambush and destroy it, before killing each and every one of you people.  
Because all of this was only to open the back door of this little land to the Tatar Horde streaming in from the East. They want Krim for themselves, and everything west of it. Their advanced Scouts are already across the 'little sea', the rest of them will be there in a matter of weeks.  
Because the creature that rescued you today is going to tell you how to save yourselves from all that.  
GOOD _ENOUGH_?!?”

 

 

There was more to tell, but I would have to verify it with my own eyes before I would speak of it.

  
I hesitated to accept war as the only solution for this dilemma, and you may be surprised to know why. Certainly, at this point in history few people will remember the names of Ti-Phillepe and Hugues as anything but names in the tales of old. Few such as I and Sushulana, and we only met them in passing at best. Or to be more precise, Hugues was one of several of my tormentors among the Unseen Guildsmen that held me prisoner in Cytheria. He was a traitor of the most personal sort, and Ti-Phillipe was his killer, shortly before he was killed himself.

  
And that, as dismal as it is to relate, is virtually all we know of their ends.  
War is a maelstrom made not of natural energies but of sentient minds bent on destruction, and it can be so impersonal even at the smallest scale that two such men can cease to be, practically in each other’s arms, and nothing was seen or hear of the event that survives for our archives. Impersonal destruction trumps personal tales of tragedy or triumph equally. I warn you all, enter not into war for glory or renown, for you can cease to be in the blink of an eye and there may be none who can even guess at what became of you.

  
The fact that this could just as easily happen to Sushulana never leaves my mind. 


	7. Chapter 7

7

 

 

I wanted to leave again to have a look at the surrounding countryside, and to allow these people some time to absorb what I had said, and to act on it. One man had other ideas, the warrior with the nobly aggressive manner and the courage to confront me. Wings flexing and head already turned east, I was caught off guard when he called out to me;  
“Tarry a moment, Dragon!”

He was standing on the top of the wooden wall when I looked back at him. A foolhardy perch, yet he did have a length of rope in his hand instead of a weapon. While another man tied off one end inside the palisade, he continued to speak to me with a voice loud enough to be heard by most people within the stockade. “I am Roul d’Viars, Knight of White Steel… what is your name and title?”

Name and title. Absurd as it may seem on later reflection, this brave fellow was attempting to accord me some respect in the only way he knew how. He also reminded me that I had neglected to introduce myself. Doing so at his behest would level the field, as they say, but I really had no choice.

“I am Merrin the Gray, and I have been charged with the protection of all things d’Angeline. Your distress summoned me here…. so, apparently, you people are d’Angeline. Yes?” I was giving a good deal away speaking thusly, yet half a thousand Tatar would soon be lurking along our escape route. I needed to tell them something that would secure their cooperation with my effort to save them.

d’Viars saluted me in a way that he hoped was not to formal, he did not wish to appear to be over-awed by me in front of his people. A wasted gesture, only one man among them was not riveted by my presence. That man rapped the armor on d’Viars’s leg, and the Knight promptly began to walk backwards down the Stockade wall. Playing the rope out with both hands, he made a good job of it, landing on both feet without slipping on the muck.

I didn’t understand why he had lowered himself to the ground at my feet, it seemed an unnecessary gesture of bravado under the circumstances. But instead of approaching me directly, this Knight walked to a fence off on his left, and plucked my discarded garments from the top of it. “Your’s, I believe?”

Men with this sort of presence of mind are rare indeed. For the first time, I was glad to be where I was.

Having to constantly replace clothing is a tiresome business, especially in a place like South Island where half the people still do not understand the value of being presentably dressed. Betimes, I fear Sushulana is one of them. I have had several suits made up with catches designed to give way rather than tear apart, produced by the greatest clothiers in the City of Elua, as the 2nd greatest simply were not up to the challenge.

“Yes indeed. You can put that in the building there, with the open door.” I did not move while d’Viars tossed them in through the doorway, never taking his eyes off me. I was in no hurry to re-assume a human size and shape.

When d’Viars saw this, he took a few measured steps into the street and faced me squarely, feet wide apart and arms crossed with his hands thrust into his belt. His behavior was so daring that I mentally sniffed for a clue to why, and I had to blink my eyes, slowly, lest any trace of amusement show. d’Viars had been offended at the way I had looked at him when I had delivered that boy to the top of he wall. He interpreted my look as reproachful, and I suppose it must have been. Once you have tweaked the pride of a Knight, its not even a matter of courage anymore. One way or another, he will have his reckoning.

Elua help us…

“I speak for all of my people when I say that we would like to hear how you know of all these things, Protector Merrin.”

“My interrogation of the last of them told me enough.”

D’Viars looked past me briefly. “You took a prisoner, where is he now?”

“At the bottom of an impact crater somewhere between here and Gurzuph.” I named the Ephesian outpost in this land, which was officially claimed as their own. The level of Ephesian interest was so low that hired Tatars were the only garrison, and now these had gone rogue.

“Why would a Tatar il-Khan want to come here?” His eyes shifted, remembering the mines behind him. “I mean, you say he wants all of Krim?” This was the name of the rhomboid-shaped island south of Vralia in the Black Sea, connected to the mainland by a sliver of land so narrow a man could walk across it in an hour.

“I believe so.” I suspected more than that, yet had no proof yet. “What is the condition here?” He blinked at me “Of your Kingdom as a whole?” I had asked too much, d’Viars was shaking his head. “Very well, another time then. Your rider left for reinforcements already?” A quick nod. “How?”

“Through the mines.” He gestured at the bluff behind the Stockade. It was crumbling because it was hollowed out, a maze of mines was in there, as well as the escape route for these people. The Gates were not opening, they never would. The people in the stockade were already leaving, through tunnels they knew well and heading south. “I have more questions for you.”

“I will be able to answer few of them, unless you would have no objection to my flying off to the east for a few hours to see for myself how… ah, I see you have issues with that.” My self-proclaimed status as their ‘protector’ was about to be verified by my own actions…. hundreds of dead Tatars and hundreds of living peons notwithstanding, apparently.

 

Half a day later we were met by the men riding out of Kalamach Cin to rescue us. Even under a cloudy sky it was easy to tell that the sun was ready to set, and we were only halfway there. The remainder of the Knighthood rode to meet us; 66 of them and their retainers. Numerically they were not impressive, the true story was in their heavy armor, couched lances and disciplined formation. I could see why the Tatars would prefer to ambush these Knights rather than face them directly.

D’Viars rode ahead to confer with them before they reached us. I circulated among the refugees in my human guise, mounted on a respectable horse and doing my best to let them all see me at close range. All of these people had seen me as I truly am, and a good many of them had seen my transformations, so hours went by before any but d’Viars were willing to speak to me. There was also little to say, plodding along with what valuables they could throw over their backs at a moment’s notice. I was able to sample the thoughts of many of them as we made our way across a bleak landscape towards greener uplands. There was fear of me, happily muted by a sense of wonderment… at me. I have never understood it myself, but the confirmed existence of Dragons has an uplifting effect on the human psyche. There was also another worry that overshadowed thoughts of a Dragon among them; Darkness. Night was falling, full dark on such a cloudy night that their eyes could not adjust to. Lighting torches would only guide the Tatar horsemen to them.

Such a quandary, I did my best to make my sardonic smile appear to be the more reassuring kind as I rode among them, re-introducing myself to people who had not heard my exchange with d’Viars. They were a varied lot, all told. Some could have walked into the City of Elua itself and been taken for natives. A handful looked as if they were d'Angeline, and a little of something else, and a great many were that something ‘else’ entirely. Not Tatar, not Varian, but something I had not seen yet that had a subtle identity of it’s own.

Knowing they would want to see me, I was there at the head of the crowd when d’Viars returned with the heads of his order. The rest of the Knights were forming two columns on either side of the refugees.

The Grand Master was one Geoffroi Wischard, a man who’s middle age was starting to give way to the next stage. He was not there yet, and he intended to have one last good run of it before he had to hang up his spurs. He rode up on me as if he was disappointed that he might miss a showdown with the Tatars, and blamed me for it. He had a long nose that had been broken several times centered in a weather-beaten face, typically d’Angeline in that a lifetime of hard living had not robbed him of his handsomeness. His armor was all glittering scales that looked a touch gaudy even in the low light, his helmet was one smooth bullet atop his head with a facemask flipped to one side. The spotted horse he rode kicked up clods of dirt as he halted roughly before me, and that glare he was giving me made it seem as if he had something personal against me. _No_ , I thought to myself, _that’s ridiculous_. Too silly to warrant a peek into his mind…

“Tell me, Dragon, have you ever been to Cytheria?”

There are times when I miss having my mate by my side more than others. Sushulana would have had a few colorful things to say right then.


	8. Chapter 8

8

 

I found myself missing her presence at that moment, she was always right at home dealing with Martial people. I knew her well enough to guess at how she would handle this situation.

“That is far from the most polite greeting I have ever had, Grand Master Wischard. However, its not the worst, either. Yes, I have been there, near half a century past. I was irritated and very much at a loss as to what to do with myself. I don’t suppose you have ever had days like that, sir Knight?” It was a warrior’s gambit, meeting strength with strength in a way that sought camaraderie or conflict at the outset. The choice of which it was to be lay in the hands of the Grand Master himself.

He nodded to me, face still firmly set, and asked one more question; “How is it that you come to be here, claiming to be our protector?”

“By the grace and forgiveness of blessed Elua… something I am still rather amazed at. We have-“

“Much to discus, yes, let us save that for when we are all safe and sound in my Hall, should be be fortunate enough to reach it. Do carry on.” A slight softening around the eyes was all the indication he gave that he found me acceptable. Wischard spurred his horse and was off to inspect the crowds strung out behind us and his soldier’s efforts to protect them. I watched him go, perhaps a little open-mouthed how well speaking the bland, unvarnished truth had been in this case.

“You were expecting a more courtly gentleman to be our leader?” D’Viars was at my side again, my appointed minder for the remainder of the journey.

“I have much to learn about you people.”

“And we of you, starting with-“

“What I can do to help you tonight?” I smiled, and d’Viars nodded for me to go on. “I can see in the dark, and I can help your people to do as as well.”

  
“Please don’t wonder off!” d’Viars rode off at a gallop to bring the Grand Master back. I shrugged and stayed were I was, darkness was already falling. These were men of action, and in minutes d’Viars returned with all of the senior Knights.

“How?” Wischard asked.

“By extending my natural abilities to those who volunteer to allow it.” I was not sure how dark it appeared to the humans, time did seem to be an issue.

“Volunteers?”

“Yes. They must open their minds to me, I cannot force something like this, not if I am to do this for dozens of you at a time. Certainly not more than a hudred of you.”

  
“Only one hundred?” Wischard asked, and I nearly became indignant until I saw that he was having a little fun with me. Fun, with _me_ , at this juncture. Did these people have unlimited _sang froid_ , or was it something in the water? I wanted to be cross with him, but I found myself smiling at the Grand Master instead.

“Yes, less than 100 if you please. We all have our limitations, and these need to be true volunteers. There will be no chanted words or burnt offerings, this will happen quickly and without fanfare. Pass the word and once enough people have made up their minds it will begin.” I looked to d’Viars. “I myself will be in a bit of a trance, I will need someone to guide my horse.”

D’Viars and all his men volunteered, as I expected. So did Wischard, which I did not. Boldness is one thing, this was another sort of courage. The Grand Master insisted on being the first one to ‘fall under the spell of a Dragon’, as he put it. None of his men batted an eye, the leader would be the first to experience this, and then verify that it was safe for the rest of his people.

I was glad they did not know of my mind-reading abilities.

Wischard saw the world in silver and black, sharing my vision, thrilled by it and by his ability to look in any direction he pleased without feeling any resistance from me. Then he spoke words that seemed to have no context in this situation; “May Cassiel smite the treacherous.”

Ah, a password, and a prayer, meant to let the others know I was not controlling Wischard. All about us, men relaxed and summoned up the volunteers. That it would not have worked I couldn’t hold it against them, the fact that I could control minds as well as read them was something I had not shared with them, nor did I plan to.

The moderate number I shared my sight with were enough to guide the rest to where they wanted to go. I swayed in the saddle open-mouthed and with slitted eyes, playing the part of the stupefied seer. Yes, this was testing the people I rode with, and those readers of this tale that are familiar with that horrible night in Cytheria can understand why. (if you are not, then you really owe it to yourself to read Sidonie’s writings on that matter, you are lost here without it) Nothing unseemly happened, there was a certain reluctance to touch me when I threatened to topple from the saddle, that was the only occasion where deny of them even came near me. In just a few hours I had to begin to reduce my connection to the volunteers, the lights of Kalamach Cin had come into view. We passed through a narrow valley and into the coastal lowlands where the air was warmer and the terrain more pleasant. A rider had gone ahead to spread the news, and lamps were no longer forbidden so close to their sanctuary. I ceased playing my little game when I allowed the torchlight to take over, and took a good look around.

I had no need for any mentalist powers to understand what the situation here was. The place we had left was rough and rude, a place dedicated to creating wealth via mines and livestock. Here is this place, that wealth was enjoyed in far more pleasant surroundings. Here was a coastal town (calling it a city would have been overly grand) with modest walls, paved streets and the sort of buildings that would have looked perfectly acceptable in the City of Elua itself.

D’Viars rode at my side, observing my ‘recovery’ and eager to make some sort of grand pronouncement. “Welcome to-“

“Who ARE you people, and _how do you come to be here_?!” I was nearly shouting, my voice carried over the babble all round us as townsfolk emerged to take in the refugees.The Knight was surprised, but also seemed a little pleased by my outburst. I had been holding it back for as long as I could, now that we were inside the center of this little …. colony? … I meant to have answers. I meant to have them from the mouths of the people who lived here.

“You mean to say, you don’t know?”

“No!” I kept my voice under control as the Grand Master approached. “I followed a feeling here, a vision I had. I have never heard or seen anything in my life that would have lead me to believe that you were here. You are d’Angeline, anyone can see that, yet there is no record of you, nobody in Court is aware of you or your predicament nor are they in a position to help you and _why_ in the upside-down Hell for stubborn bureaucrats are you _smiling_?”

“You must forgive us.” said Grand Master Wischard, who indeed was smiling, whereas the rest were merely grinning. “Not only have you been most helpful, but you have confirmed our fondest hope. We have no wish to be known to the Crown of Terre d’Ange.” Before I could ask my next question, he added. “It would be more seemly to have this discussion in my Hall over some mulled wine, agreed?”

I had to agree, most of the people milling about us now were townsfolk, who would have questions of their own once they heard about me from the refugees.

 

A very brief time later, we were seated around an oval table in a Hall that would have done the great fortress of Troyes Monte proudly. There was no central Keep, no grand castle. The wall around the town was a collection of several dozen stone buildings built with battlemented roofs and joined by short curtain walls. It was an all-for-one sort of defense, as if a military camp had turned from tent fabric into stone and a community had grown up inside it. _Up_ , indeed, the limited space had caused many buildings to be made higher than three stories tall, a rare sight in western Europa. I also noted that while they overtopped the walls at that height, every building’s walls that faced the outer edge of town was made of stone rather than wood & stucco, and had narrow windows. Such a mutually supportive nest of strongpoints would be a nightmare for any army in the world assault, how did the Tatar think they could manage it? I’d not probed so deeply as to find out, unfortunately.

I was escorted without fanfare to a building that was entirely stone and looked to be part Temple, part Dojon to my eyes. This place was mostly one great room, the great hall I just mentioned. The vaulted ceiling was supported by massive beams that were hung with banners and flags, and trophies of war. The walls were uncluttered, and pierced with many doors. I did not have to be told that most of those would lead to small rooms, cells, where soldiers would go to rest and take a break from whatever brutish activity passed for their daily lives.

I was given roughly 5 heartbeats to take in my surroundings when a bald and beardless Gentleman at the far end of the room pounded the flagstone flooring with his staff three times and announced in a solemn if reedy voice;  
“ _Welcome_ , to the House of _the Last_ of the _Glory Seekers_!”

I took that to be some sort of traditional title of some sort, and homage to ancestors. At least it explained why Troyes had been on my mind, this place was modeled after it in many ways. 69 years had passed, or was it 68? The battle that had marked the end of Skadic barbarism and the beginning of Ysandre’s eventful reign had been quite a long time ago.

I stepped forward to introduce myself, and the man I had taken for Castilian did so as well, red robes flowing about his as he did. This was when I got my first good look at him, a scarred veteran of many battles, and able to walk only with the aid of his staff. To my eyes, he appeared to be near to a century in age as he entered the pool of lamplight around the table. That is an age that is not easily obtained by Humans. To do so requires a zest for life, great stamina in mind as well as body, and a goodly amount of common sense. The later is not a quality I would have associated with the group of people he’d named himself one of.

“The last of the Glory Seekers….” I repeated dumbly, the facts standing before me matched nothing of what I knew of the history of Terre d’Ange. “I am Merrin the Gray, Protector of Terre d’Ange, the Crown, and the Courcel family. This charge is given me by Elua directly, as a hard-headed and formerly hard-hearted Dragon such as myself apparently required a firm bit of guidance. This is held in secret, as I am not yet suitably reformed enough to take my place as a true citizen of that great land. I must swear you to secrecy insofar as this is concerned, and you will swear it if you would like to hear more of what I have to say to you all. And you, sir, represent a mystery that I cannot fathom. Would you mind explaining…” I held out my hands to encompass the hall and its decorations, “… _this_?”


	9. Chapter 9

**9**

 

 

 

The hour was late and saying all that need be said would take much time, for all of us. Not even travel-weary d’Viars and his man in attendance were interested in rest. As ever, the presence of a Dragon had a rousing effect on Humanity. I could sense that all through town a hundred variations of the story of my arrival was already being told. Within these halls, ten man faced me over a table laden with refreshments, and the air was similar to a last repast before Judgement Day.  
They weren’t even asking for proof of who I was. It was as if they had known this meeting was inevitable, all along.

No, there was no dispute that I was a Dragon, altho d’Viars was the only man present that has seen me that way. My command of their language was flawless, yet that could hardly be proof of my status as "Protector". I had just told them it was a secret, and _still_ they made no further demands, yet. This was something more than Knightly manners and the warrior’s tendency to take a man at his word. I represented something they had been expecting for a great many years, I now believe that Joffre’ would have been disappointed had he died before he had seen this day come to pass.

Joffre’ was the octogenarian who’s home this was, and he as indeed the last of Prince Baudoin de Trevalion’s Glory Seekers. I had always thought that to be a peculiar name for a band of adult men, the result of too many years of peace and a declaration of intent that could entrap the bearers… as indeed it had. Joffre’ and four others had escaped that trap in a novel way.

The old man sang his story to me in poetic verse, quatrains that had a lyrical beauty to them and required the better part of an hour for him to recite. He paused often to fortify himself with dark wine, and the men about him ate while he spoke from plates laden with fish and mutton. I limited myself to water and dry toast sprinkled with _Caviar_ , of all things, while I absorbed Joffre’s story.

A handful of those doomed Knights had avoided death the day Waldemar Selig had gone down in defeat. They stole away from the battlefield to avoid a life of under the scrutiny and suspicion of the new Queen and her Alban cohorts. They encountered a band of the late Duc d’Aiglemort’s men who were not eager to take up the Black Shield and adopt Phe’dre no’ Delauny as their patron saint. They headed southeast with vague ideas about forming a mercenary band and operating in Caerdicci Unitas, taking some women and some family members with them through the passes before proper watches could be re-established. There was no employment to be had in those southern lands, old quarrels had been set aside in the face of Skaldic threats and the chaos in Terre d’Ange. There was also no unclaimed land for them to settle on, so they passed north of La Serenissima and into Illyria.

No mention was made of the Little Court or of Prince Benedicte in my presence. There must have been some contact made, mayhap this very band had escorted Melisande Sharizai to him. Whatever the case may have been, something unseemly or embarrassing had taken place and there had been a falling out. Politely, the official memory of that event had been erased, and I was in no mood to delve into such matters at the time. The Glory Seekers and their entourage had moved onwards, ever eastwards, dealing with bandits in Illyria and becoming involved with a dispute between Hellas and Ephesus before finding the narrow land at Perekop and beyond that, this little land called Krim.

There were people here already, scattered and disparate. There were outcasts from the Tatar hordes, dilapidated Hellenic outposts, indigenous folk who would swear allegiance to anyone that could protect them, and one trade settlement that was the only real claim Ephesus had on this place. The d’Angeline wanderers thought that they had found a home at last, and none too soon. In two years of exodus, a quarter of them had died or gone missing, and Krim was badly in need of a stabilizing influence. Too few in number to take everything on at once, they gravitated to the eastern end of Krim, where there were mines and a defensible port. Here, they would make their second stand against an old foe.

Hard on their heels came the Skaldi, of all people. Thousands of Waldemar’s people had been in warbands that had bitten deep into Terre d’Ange, and then withdrawn in confusion when word came of the defeat of the greater mass of their army at Troyes. Unbeaten and unwilling to adapt to a new world where they would have to _earn_ the mantle of civilization, many of them had gone a-raiding in the other direction; into Vralia. The profits were few among the desperate serfs and their obtuse masters, embarrassingly so. Rather than return to Skaldi lands and admit they were wrong, these marauders turned south for the winter, and found Krim. These men fortified the isthmus at Perekop so that none would be able to follow in their footsteps, and took over the central, northern and western parts of Krim. They did not bother themselves with the southern mountains or the eastern reaches at first, their prizes were the farms and pasturelands, and the best port in a land ands a natural trade-nexus.  
Skirmishing with the d’Angeline folk, who were their neighbors once again, would later become their preferred pastime.

The irony of it all was not lost on anyone. The oval shape of this very table was a reflection of the paths taken by two old enemies along very different routes, only to end in the same place. At my end of the oval was an inlay that resembled the outline of Terre d’Ange with a red star in the center of it. At Joffre’s end was a more accurate inlay of Krim in red. There are occasions when aristocrats find it acceptable to exchange gifts, even with those they spend much of their time fighting against. This table had been sent from Neuhaffen, the Skaldi capital on Krim.

I needed a moment, and two glasses of wine, to process all of this.

 

Krim is a place for the unwanted, and time itself seems to be arrested there. The reason I needed a moment was my understanding of their attitude. All this time, they had been expecting the past to catch up with them, someone would come from Terre d’Ange and ask for an accounting from them. That … or demand a reckoning. The fact that I was a Dragon or even my spectacular method of bursting upon their lives were secondary. These people had been waiting for me, or someone like me, for nearly 70 years.

I would have to explain something of myself to these people before I left the room, that was a certainty. Another certainty; my investigations would have to wait.

I leaned forward on both elbows, still deep in thought while looking at each of them in turn. Their hunger had long been sated and everything but the wine had been cleared away, all of them had put enough away to be drunk by then, yet none were even drowsy. The thoughts wafting free of their heads told me that under the circumstances, they drank just enough to take the edge off their nerves. Wischard had his doubts about me, faint ones, he took me for a Nobleman whatever my shape. I have been told that the way I carry myself makes it impossible to mistake me for anything else, and on this occasion it was a helpful trait. D’Viars believed in me, and struggled to contain his dread. Joffre’ could feel his impending death as roaring fires and strong drink failed to warm his bones, his one desire was that I would carry his words faithfully back to the Crown he had left behind so long ago. The rest were varied, yet one and all felt the maw of history about to close around them.

“Gentlemen, before I say what I must, I would like to know how dated your knowledge of events in Terre d’Ange is.”

After glancing at Joffre’, Wischard told me; “Every year, a ship flying the flag of Ephesus docks somewhere in the Mother Country with one of our people aboard.”

Of course, they remained curious about Terre d’Ange and wished to hear of it, the tales of love and the legends of glory … and any clue that an expedition of some sort was headed their way. I wondered if their forbearers had been amused or mystified that Phe’dre’s travels had taken her north and south of Krim and even to the east of it without uncovering a clue about their existence.

“So, you are aware that Anniele rules, the second generation of rulers with no living memory of the Skaldi invasion, yes? You know that since that time…” I nearly listed all the trials and tribulations that the people of their ‘mother country’ had endured since that old war, and stopped myself in mid-sentance. Making these people feel any more isolated than they already were would be a poor way to start.

“My mate, who is someone you will be meeting shortly, would want to save serval steps here and come straight to the heart of the matter. If it is amenable to you…. ah, yes, I see that would suit you very well. As you wish.” I stabbed at the table with one finger to make my first point. “Unless you have been up to something nefarious here or engaged in activity that was harmful to the Kingdom, your welcome in Terre d’Ange is assured. The manner of your leaving,” I looked to Joffre’ “remains unknown, as does your very existence. From what little I have seen I believe that I would vouch for you myself.” A second finger hit the table. “Should you choose to remain here in the home you have made for yourselves, there will be no expedition headed here to make any demands of you. The Crown will probably not make any effort to support your realm, I do not know for certain one way or the other. This is unprecedented on several levels. Thirdly, there may be another option, a further place for you to go that is certainly more pleasant that this one.” I closed my fist and held it above the table. “There is no chance whatsoever that I withhold what you have told me and what I have seen here from the Queen. This shroud of secrecy is over with. From this moment on, you must adapt to the fact that you are known to those that you left behind.”  
I was expecting an outburst of some kind. There was none.

Joffre’ was beaming at me through his rheumy eyes. D’Viars exhaled a breath that he may have been holding since he was a boy. Wischard looked disturbed, as did those sitting nearest him. The Grand Master had taken the seat immediately to my right, once again placing himself in the position of greatest danger. He was not looking at me, but the table. I looked down as well, and saw that the tips of my fingers had left noticable depressions in the Oaken table.

And to think… Sushulana still wonders why I don’t give full vent to my passions with her when I am in this form.

I settled back in my chair and looked to Joffre, his questions would come in preference to all the rest. The dozens of lamps all around us could not compete with the grand Fireplace behind him, and he appeared wreathed in flame to my eyes. I did feel a pang of sympathy for him, he was coming to grips with the fact that he was not only the last of his kind, but the last of his generation. There would be no grand confrontation that would allow him to speak for his old comrades and justify their actions. He and his people were a curiosity, no more.

Yes, that bothered me too. It is no great effort for me to sympathize with those who are lost in time, forgotten and isolated.

“How can you be so sure of yourself?” Joffre spoke in such a measured way that he held up a hand during his many pauses for breath. “When the Hignesses Imriel and Sidoine proclaimed their love for each other,” another pause. “a horde of people wearing black armbands stood against them. They stood against Elua’s scriptures, and Queen Ysandre ordered the boy to kill his own Mother. I served a traitor, all of us did. We deserted our homeland, and made no move to help them in later years.” What 77 Knights who were clinging to a tiny realm at the other end of the continent _could_ have done was something I did not ask. “The fame and the deeds of our descendants are unknown in Terre d’Ange, our accomplishments here would mean little in the Court of the Courcels. They know only of what WAS. They will be resentful, and you have told us that you are a secret presence there. I require that you expand on whatever it is that makes you so certain that we could be welcomed there?” Joffre laid his palm flat on the table, my time to respond was at hand.

I had thought that he had talked himself dry with the quatraens. Now I believe that Joffre’s primary employment for the later half of his life had been oration, providing the ‘memory’ of his people with his poetry. And he did make some damnably good points.

“I must apologize for not giving due consideration to all of those issues. I suppose you must hear this fairly often, but your acuity comes as a surprise considering your obvious seniority.” I gave him the same sort of respectful nod that the Knights had given me on the journey here. “When you speak of the Court, you should know that I am _not_ an unknown there. My voice carries weight with the Royal family, my mate is considered by the current Queen to be her ‘Fairy God Mother’ and it was HER parents risked their live to save us both! You speak of history? I have history also, and if you wish to hear of its briefest form, I hope you have nothing else planned between now and dawn.” I snatched up the carafe of wine nearest me and drained it. Wischard wanted to ask something of me, so I held up my hand so that I could finish my thought. “The past is always with us, but the here  & now must take priority. If the first thing the people of Terre d’Ange hear about you is a deed rendered in their lifetime, that is what they will give highest consideration to. If the second thing they hear about you is that you are long-lost d’Angeline, they will be thrilled an amazed. So… I strongly suggest that you withhold any talk of Glory Seekers for last, so that it be given thought lastly rather than firstly.”

They spoke among themselves for a moment in low voices, I made no effort to follow any of the conversations. I stared back at Joffre’s unblinking eyes, eyes that I could barely see thanks to the backlighting. I could have had a full conversation with him before the whispers ceased, had I chosen to reveal the extent of my mental powers. I did not. In truth, I was still enjoying the fact that being taken for a seer was such a good thing with these people.

“You speak of deeds that we could preform.” Wischard said once the murmurs died down. “Did you mean something to do with the Tatar?”

Hesitation at this moment would have been bad for me. “I need to have a look at what they are up to. Here on Krim, and beyond.”

Joffre’ nodded at me, and then to Wischard; “If the Protector wishes to have a look, you may as well give him one.”

“As you say.” The Grand Master pointed to one of his underlings and jerked a thumb at the wall behind him. The man bounded over to a place where a black drape had been hung on the wall. I had assumed it was to cover the portrait of somebody that was no longer in favor. When the drapery was hauled away, I leapt from my chair and was halfway to the painting in just a heartbeat.

This was no portrait, it was a scenic composition eight feet wide and five feet tall. Dark clouds formed the background, hardly any blue sky was visible. From horizon to horizon there was a distant line of flame, subdued and some points, vivid with nearness at others. The height of the vast clouds of smoke was staggering, the tops of the highest ones were flattening out where they had reached the limit of the atmosphere. There was little else to see in the painting aside from two features; the trampled and dusty-dry Steppes, and the Tatar. Thousands of them, tens of thousands, perhaps a hundred thousand if one peered closely enough into the distant border of flame, where their dun-colored attire faded into the grassland itself. These did not look like the more settled Tatar mercenaries we had just faced, these had a more lean and hungry look and lacked the jaunty air that my victims had sported before I had turned on them. For confirmation, I looked for shadows on this exacting bit of artwork. They were there, and falling from the right shoulders of the warriors shown.

This horde was coming from the East, not from Gurzuph.

This painting was not done in any style common to any of this world’s regions, the artist had been striving for stark reality, and achieved it. It radiated a menace to me that I had though only being in such a scene could achieve.

Wischard neatly anticipated my question; “A seer lived among us for a time. Touched, she was, but kindly and easy to tolerate. Gia spent the better part of a season working on that, in a trance for much of that time… we assume. She died last month, just a few days after completing it. Her last words were that we should not mourn her, that another would take her place and guide us through the coming trials. She bade us to search for him in her painting, that we would see he was already fighting our enemy.” I had not turned from the scene while Wiscahrd was speaking, and he added; “The clouds, to the lower left end.”

And there it was, difficult to make out unless one had spent some time searching. In the whorls of the blue-black clouds, lines came together to suggest the outline of something vast and terrible; me. Or, a Dragon very much like me. Wings back, neck arched, claws extended like a stooping Hawk and headed into the mass of the Tatar Horde.

My assumptions as to why the people of Kalamach Cin found my presence among them so acceptable were, upon reflection, somewhat inadequate.


	10. Chapter 10

10

 

 

“That _is_ you, isn’t it?”

Joffre’s question made me cringe. Yes, it certainly _looked_ like it could be me, if I was behaving like an idiot. Dragon scales are reputed to be invulnerable. Even if this was true, allow me to introduce you to a mathematical inevitability; If a thousand arrows are fired at a flying Dragon, the majority will miss, and that still leaves more than enough ensure that at least one will pierce an eyeball, or the nostril, or the eardrum of a Dragon. The later is the most dire, that means that the offending arrow will probably lodge in the Dragon’s brain.

The course that the Dragon in the portrait was taking would invite the return fire of several _thousand_ archers.

“There is a resemblance, particularly in the coloring.” d’Viars helpfully added while I was thinking.

“Would you MIND giving me a moment?” I asked, mayhap a bit harshly. I put my hands on the painting and bowed my head. It was painted on a carefully planed and sanded plank of wood, and then lacquered over, not that it mattered. I was not attempting to gain any psychic impressions from the object itself, that kind of thing is not my forte’. I sent my awareness out, far from the painting, far from Krim.

As I did not wish to leave my body, what appeared to me was similar to what you would see of the stars in the night sky, if you could leave the haze of Terra’s atmosphere behind. Some are scattered, some clumped together. If you can see something of the great spray of distant stars that the Hellenic scholars call the Milky Way… then you have some idea of what the Tatar Horde appeared to me as when I found them. There seemed to be _that_ many of them, in a broad north-south arc. I spied on the minds of those still awake at this late hour, and learned much from them.

Vralians had attempted to make a stand against them, south of the mountains that form the border between the east and west halves of their sprawling realm. The Tatar had fallen upon them in unexpected numbers, and annihilated the Vralian Army. Not the entire Army, only that part that had been present for this battle. The rest of the Varian people had fled or died where they stood, and few stood. They retreated into the North, into dense forests or marshlands that offered no forage for the teaming horde of horses and other livestock the Tatar depended on. Abandoning the black-earth farmlands would mean a hungry year for Vralia, but so be it. what mattered to me was how their retreat gave the Tatar a clear path westwards.

Westwards, some advanced parties were already _north_ of where I stood. Others were right where I feared they would be; just across the narrow bit of water that separated Krim from Asia. Launching rafts and gathering stolen boats, they were awaiting word from their comrades on Krim itself. This was something that I could deal with on my own, but the rest…

I released my hold on the painting and turned to the d’Angeline warriors. Patient men, they had not stirred or made a sound while I doing my work of the mind. It was another curtesy they extended to me, not wishing to interfere with my concentration. It made me wonder about how much work they had done with the seer who had made that painting and what they had come to expect from a mentalist.

One look at their faces told me that they were expecting a great deal from me.

I sighed and stood facing them with my hands clasped behind my back and my feet planted shoulder-width apart. “Gentlemen, I have seen the Tatar portrayed in this work, and the news is dire.”

“How many are there?” Wischard asked, as if there was some hope that his tiny army could stand against them. I had to disabuse them of that notion immediately and in no uncertain terms.

“ _All_ of them.”

 

***

 

 

This business of being ‘the expected one’ was annoying to me, but I did have some idea of how to exploit it. These men were making it easy for me; instead of saying ’That _can’t_ be possible’ as anyone else in Europa would have, Joffre’ asked “How _can_ that be possible?”

“They are fleeing a plague that overtook Ch’in while the Tatar were in the process of conquering it. All of the eastern holdings have been abandoned, every man, woman, child and elder that could travel has done so and for a year and a half have been struggling to go westward, to out-run this terrible plague.” I pointed to the painting. “That cloud of smoke is not some city or a forest they put to the torch as they passed, they are burning everything as they pass through in an attempt to escape that terrible disease. Even the dry summer grass burns, the very fodder their horses depend on, whatever is left after they have passed is set afire.”

  
“Have they succeed in leaving the plague behind?”

I hesitated, my probe had not gone deep enough to verify that item. In my moment of silence, the men glanced at each other and Joffre’ came to the logical conclusion. “If they were confident they had escaped it, they would stop with the burning.”

I had no argument for that, yet I was ready for the next query from Wischard; “Why Krim? This little land of ours, what interest could we have for them? We are too small, too difficult to reach… why us?”

“This is as I suspected from the first. You represent a threat to their southern flank as they move on Europe… the same way a castle would that lays to the side of any Army’s line of march. They can’t have you striking at their people as their fighting men assault the Chowat and the Skaldian realms.”

“Then, what of Akkad?”

I had no answer for that, either.

It was time to bring in the expert when it came to such military matters, someone that could fighting on a personal level, or globe-spanning strategy, or anything in between.

“I … _we_ , require the services of an expert on these matters. It is well that I have already mentioned my mate to you, I must bring her into this, right now if you will permit …” I held up my hand to forestall any objections. “Yes, female, and with half a millennium of experience in this sort of thing. You will find the Field Marshal to be far better at advising you than I in military matters.”

“Field Marshall?” Wischard asked me. I had thought that mentioning her title would impress these men, and I miscalculated. “Wound she be the one that was involved in the end of Carthage, with you?”

I had been about to rise, instead I settled back into my chair with a heavy sigh. It was my turn to do some explaining.

 

My tale spun out for just as much time that Joffre’s had. I started with the escape from our doomed world, included the general idea of our feud spanning worlds without any mention of our mutual insanity. I spent a good deal of time explaining what had happened on Cytheria and was very open about the Unseen Guild and its demise. There was no reason not to be, the organization was defunct and I wanted them to know just how heroic Imriel and Sidonie had been on that occasion. Yes, I took a certain joy in this, I was not bound by the rule of secrecy as this was not Terre d’Ange, after all and seeing the reactions of these dislocated d’Angeline men was very much worth my time. There was also the redemption we found in the City of Elua, in this case largely thanks to Sushulana’s faith and these delightful Gods who had, as my mate had insisted on many occasions; ‘got it right’.

Now that they knew what they were dealing with, these men of Kalamach Cin needed a moment, as I had before, and they adjourned to an ante-room to discus the situation. It may seem a remarkable act of curtesy that they did not ask me to exit the room, leaving me with a servant and a chance to contemplate while they confined themselves to a much smaller and less comfortable chamber. In truth, they were seeking privacy. I found it amusing that the room was thought to be some sort of protection for them; the walls were covered in lead-based paint, the glass in the window was lead-crystal and framed in lead, and the ceiling & door was covered in a thin sheet of lead. This was a case of a little occult knowledge being as worthless as none at all; they had forgotten the flooring.

I listened to their meeting with half an ear while I asked the servant (a lad too frail for military service and bound for the Clergy when he came of age) which of the rooms adjoining this chamber was the least likely to be made use of tonight, and had him open it for me. The room was filled with spare furnishings, which didn’t matter at all to me. I used a heavy candlestick to brace the door open and stood in the doorway, facing the great hall. Eyes still open, I made mental contact with Sushulana. It was mid afternoon at our home and I interrupted nothing but another session of editing her own texts. She was surprised and amused to hear from me so soon, that amusement faded as I informed her of my situation. Why I needed her presence here needed no explanation at all.

*We can’t tell them-*

**There are a great many things that we cannot do. I need you here to tell us what we _can_ do**

*Of course dearest. I can be there in a quarter of an hour*

**See through my eyes now, will this be sufficient?** She had me turn about, slowly, and then asked me to mentally picture the surroundings and even how this part of the world would appear from far above. This was not strictly necessary, my love was being careful with herself, and doing so for my peace of mind.  
*I have it, is timing important? Should I wait for a nod from you?*

**Yes, and you have at least twice the time you said. They are still having their little meeting**

*Understood*

And that was that. Simple and undemanding of me at a crucial moment, how could anyone not love someone like that?

As for myself, I was starting to become angry. Those men behind closed doors were talking about her, in bafflingly ignorant terms. I had let slip that she was _Alfar_ , which did not sit well with them. Oh yes, a Dragon was quite welcome here, being the expected on and all… but a Elf, a forest spirit, a trickster born of the wilderness and misty legend? This they were having trouble with, and over and above that was the preposterous notion of a WOMAN that could fight and expected to command others to make war?

How preposterous!

And thus it was that when they filed out to rejoin me at the table, they found me brooding and glaring at them through slitted eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

11

 

 

The hospitality these men had afforded me was all that held me back from launching into a dramatic tirade. They did see that something was bothering me, so I went straight to it, again.

“My mate will be here shortly, and by that I mean in mere moments.” I raised my voice to prevent anyone from interrupting me. “Her name is Sushulana, _Su-shu-lana_ , it would behove you to get it right. We are not happy that she must come here, nor that we must leave our children in the care of others to come here and help you.”  
Oh, yes, a lie on my part, twice over perhaps. _I_ was not happy that she had to come here. _She_ would be thrilled at some deep, dark level, there was no denying that. And our children needed little looking after. In all likelihood, they would be running our little Empire in my absence… if they were not already. Mentioning them was my way of putting a more ‘humanizing’ face on our situation.

It didn’t work.

“All the more reason to allow her to remain at your home.” This came as a pronouncement from Joffre’, as if the decision had already been made. “We are not barbarians, we do not subject women to violence. With your help we will find a way to prevail. And if we fail, we will send our loved ones away, far from this place to live as they may without us.”

“MY help?” I snarled, hinting that I might not help … a useless gesture. These men of honor already knew, thanks to my explanation of my own situation, that I could not abandon them. I stood up and leaned on the table. “Aren’t you aware that it was Sidonie de la Courcel that formulated the strategy that broke Astgal’s army at the battle of Amilcar? My help has it limits. The very terminology that you use when speaking of warfare eludes me as often as not. I am not in the habit of fighting wars as a general rule, I have always had people for that.”

‘ _I have people for that_ ’, the sort of dismissive way aristocrats speak of their servants. THAT was a shot that found its mark, and put some welcome distance between us as well. The Knights exchanged glances, grimacing at each other while Joffre’ stared at me impassively. He spoke when he sensed that none of the rest of these men would dare to ask the question;

“What is it that you think she can do for us?”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

She had been observing through my eyes, and when Sushulana stepped through the sudden shimmer in the doorway, she did not look overjoyed. However, she did look magnificent. Her iron-rimmed boot-heels rang as she marched up to the table, accompanied by a slight burring sound from the spurs on those solid black boots. She had not taken the time to put her hair up, it flowed behind her like the fur cape she has thrown over her shoulders, and helped to hide her ears for the moment. She wore loose-fitting linen dyed a grey similar to my own scales, and no armor at all. She was, however, very well armed. Nothing rattled as she moved, it was all secured and worn with the ease of a lifetime of practice.

Sushulana did not glance my way, she might have grinned at just the wrong moment. Instead she came to a sudden halt three paces from the table about midway down its length with her heels clashing to together with a resounding _clack_. She did not salute them there was a roll of silk in her right hand. “Gentlemen.” she spoke to them with her voice striking at the air between them like tent-pegs being hammered into the ground, “Grand Master Wischard, Elder Joffre’, I can’t help you without your permission. There are a great many other people who will be needing help before this even starts. However, I can demand _and_ share information on this situation.”

With a flick of her wrist, she unrolled the silk on the table in front of Wischard. It was a map of Krim, the sea around it and a good deal of southern Vralia as well. Everyone at the table could tell at a glance that it was far more accurate than anything that any of them had seen before. She continued in her relentless way; “You can forget about Akkad. Everything north of Darsanja is already being consumed or burned as we speak. It is called Scorched Earth, there will be no provisions or fodder for the Akkadians anywhere. They could try to bring an army up this sea and this river here, but they don’t have enough ships there to move OR supply an army of any size. Its probably too late in any event, the Tatar move too quickly.” She scanned the eyes of the men at the table, meeting every gaze in turn as she spoke. “As the father of my children could tell you, the Tatar schemed with the Carthaginians to take over Europa half a century ago. Neither were strong enough to do the job alone, yet the Tatar are going to make the attempt now. Desperation drives them, the abandonment of all their other holdings gives them the numbers to make it happen.”

It was hard for me to contain my enjoyment of Sushulana, my admiration for her. In less than an hour she had absorbed some literally earth-shaking information, swallowed her own emotional reaction to it and gone straight to work on solving the problems it presented. Intuition guided by a wealth of experience allowed her to say what she did with such confidence, and she was not above asking these men to fill in the gaps in her knowledge. “Where exactly are we located here?”

D’Viars leaned in and pointed to the southern coast of Krim, and then put his hand on his dagger. “If I may?”

I wasn’t reading that young commander at the time and I did not understand what he was doing. I tensed up, but Sushulana was already nodding. He drew his dagger and used the point to indicate where this town was on the map. That dagger was the only instrument he had with a narrow enough tip to show the exact point on the map.  
Soldiers have habits that only other soldiers understand.

“Speaking of ships, how many do you have here?”

“We have one fine warship… and two Merchant ships, perhaps ten smaller ships and boats.” Sushulana looked up from the map at the Knight who was speaking, a man with a scroll sitting next to Joffre’. He was doing double-duty as the scribe on this occasion. He in turn glanced at Wischard, and then admitted; “It won’t be enough to evacuate our helpless ones.”

“And the Ephesian settlement?”

D’Viars shifted his dagger slightly to the west. “We have to assume that the Tatar have already wiped out the populace.”

“No, we don’t.” Sushulana turned to me for the first time since entering the Hall.

“Would you like me to have a look?” I asked, smiling at her.

“If it wouldn’t be too much of a bother.” She smiled back and walked around the table to where I was. I stood, and despite the fact that I had left her side mere hours ago, she felt the need to hug me. I returned the hug, and cupped the back of her head in my hands as she looked up at me. “Didn’t take you long to get into trouble this time, did it?”

Our closeness and banter was accepted as a mater of course by the men at the table, proving that they were still d’Angeline after all.  
“And now I must get into a bit more trouble.” I said, reluctantly.

“So soon?”

“Yes, I have many visits to make, starting with Aragonia, and Alba.”

“That far west?” She did the math in her head. “It will be the middle of the night there, and the timing won’t become any more convenient as you go on. Do you think that a few hours will make any difference?”

I felt my eyebrows twitch. “You, who have fought so many battles, have to ask me that?”

She needed and stepped back from me. “One never knows.” At the same time she was speaking, her thoughts came to me; *You got a good look at them, can we really stop them?*

“One never knows.” I repeated. She and I were not simply talented and powerful, it is no exaggeration to describe us as mighty. **I have my doubts, we have never faced anything like this before, have we?**

*That in itself hardly makes this something new.*

**True. I have to exploit the fact that we are not alone in this-**

*No! Don’t tell them, Sid and Imri have had _enough_ troubles in their lives. The shock of something like this... I won’t allow it!*

**They are near as dear to me, as they are to you, but they will find out. All I can do is moderate what they hear, and they are not the one I mean to call on. Understand?** I flashed an image of a very particular flower into her mind, and Sushulana’s jaw dropped before she nodded, slowly.

Men were leaving chairs all around the table, agitated. Joffre alone remained seated, glaring at me. “You would leave us?”

I nodded. “By your leave, Gentlemen. I must inform all the heads of the great Kingdoms west of here about what is happening, as well as the Republics and other important places. You’d not gainsay the need for that, would you?” I hurried onward before they could do just that. “I will not go into any particulars about you people when I am in Terre d’Ange, only that you are here. As you have specified, your deeds will be known before the details about your past become known. I will also be bringing someone that may turn out to be the saving grace in this war. As well-informed as you are, surely you must have heard of the Master of the Straits, yes?”

 

***

 

Three hours later, I was sitting down to enjoy a taste of _uishgee_ in a room that served as Hyacinth’s parlor. It was a cozy place, made warm and dry in a country famous for being neither of those things. Wood paneling covered the stone walls prevalnt in the rest of the Keep, a fire blazed in the corner and several lamps were turned up high. The old Mage was awake when I came calling on him, even in good weather his ligaments pained him. Any sleep light enough to bring on vivid dreams was unwelcome to him. Hyacinth had survived his wife and even one of his own children, among others.

“You went to Aragonia first?” He was not as old as Joffre’, and better preserved overall. His silver-white hair and beard were thinning yet still impressive, and his olive skin had gone craggy without being overly discolored. Best of all, his mind was still razor-sharp, and it was his mind that mattered to me.

“They have the farthest to go. I advised that they send Cavalry only, by ship as far as they can, Norstock perhaps. There is a chance they may be able to do some good.

“You advised them… how?”

I smiled, giving a Dragon a chance to boast may seem cliche’ yet it does put me in a better mood. “My first stop was at the d’Angeline Embassy. A few coded phrases were all I needed to rouse the staff and gain an immediate audience with the ambassador. And then I went to implant some information in the Aragonian Ministry of War. Or rather, in the Minister’s head.”

“How did you manage that? He must have been sound asleep.”

“He was, until I hit him in the face with a pillow.” We both chuckled, and I explained how I had shown him what was happening by extending his senses to Vralia, similar to what I had once done for a group of people at Cytheria many years ago. “I had no concrete proof for those people, so I took the time to ensure that the same story will burst upon them from two different sources at the same time.”

" If what you are telling me is truly the case, nothing like this has happened in this part of the world since the fall of the Tiberian Empire.”

“If?” This sort of doubt was strange coming from him, and unexpected. I had my mind barred to any intrusion, and so I was also walled off from being able to read even his surface thoughts. This wasn’t politeness alone, there are some strange folk in Alba that I have no wish to become entangled with.

“Yes, _if_. Why should they continue into Europa? Once they have southern Vralia under their control they will have the best pastureland in the world, a region perfectly suited to their needs. It is also a place where their cavalry-only Army can best maneuver to protect itself. Europa has many deep forests and mountains, they could flounder there among people who know how to defend their lands. And all you have to go on is what you gleaned from a few low-ranking minds added to your own best guesses.” He leaned back in a chair that was just barely plush enough to be comfortable for his old bones. “In the City of Elua, what you have won’t be convincing to anyone but your friends.”  
I did not mention the fact that, until this moment, I had thought Hyacinth to be a friend. Perhaps not a terribly close one, yet I could tell he knew I was right. Why the evasion?

“Firstly, if they were not intent on going farther than those grasslands, why would they be intent on conquering Krim BEFORE they have even passed it with their main body? Secondly, they are hardly the sort of people to be befuddled by rivers, forests or castles. These same people were in the process of conquering Ch’in 2 years ago, and I assure you that Ch’in is just as vast, dense and varied as Europa is, if not more so. They were _winning_ , they had tasted an epic victory and being cheated by a disease must be incredibly frustrating. And if that plague is still dogging their steps, the only place in the world outside of Ch’in where people that can be found capable of ending it is right here! Or so they would believe… you are not an unknown outside your own home, Master of Water and Wind. They will believe there are Healers whose stature matches your own.” I also leaned back, fingers drumming on the arm of my chair. “However, I do thank you for the reminder that more proof will be needed… if not with the Courcels, then with the various other places I must go. The Skaldi must have heard rumors by now, more will be needed to jolt them, and as for the rest….” I trailed off, looking the old mage in the eyes. “What about you? What is really bothering you?”

“Pardon me for not leaping at the chance to resume the Long Road, however I don’t leap at all anymore. That is your purpose here, isn’t it? You are not so interested in the Alban army, you want ME there, don’t you?” I had to admit this was the case, so I nodded. “Far from the Ocean, what good do you think I can do for you?”

For _me_? I let that pass for the moment. “You do understand that Europa’s best chance is to stop the enemy at the outset, yes? The farther the Tatar go, the harder it will be to stop them. In the Chowat is a mountain range that will channelize enemy movements nicely, south of that is a gap between those mountains and a swampy river delta that the massed forces of Ephesus and Hellas should be able to hold. North of those mountains… nothing but a broad river. It flows into the Sea just east of what is considered YOUR Sea.”

“Yes, but it _isn’t_ my sea. I would be much reduced there. Saying that I could have submerged Carthage under the Sea was more guess than reality. I really don’t know if I could have-“

“Hogwash!” It felt good to say such things in Cruithne. “What is _really_ bothering you?”

“You have not been reading my thoughts? Ah, the Bear-Witches. They frighten you?”

“People who have power and yet are ruled by fear _disturb_ me.” The old Tsingano gave me a knowing look, a challenge to me. That was a mistake, trying to goad me into an argument as if pride ruled me, and the insinuation that Sushulana or I would allow fear to rule us in this situation. Maghuin Dhonn be damned, I opened my mind for just a few heartbeats, and saw the truth. “Damn you for a fool, old man. It is success that you fear? Yes, I see it in your eyes, you fear being the one that makes the difference!”

“You dare-“ I cut his reply short by leaping to me feet and pacing about the room. I fear I made a daunting picture for a moment, but I was truly angered. Hyacinth watched me carefully for a moment and then continued. “You must understand, I would prefer to leave this world as the Tsingano lad that fate cast as a reluctant mystic, rescued by his dearest friend to live a long and quietly happy life in the mists of Alba. If my last act in this world is to prove that what I learned is really so tremendous … someday, people will try to find that book.” That gave me pause, and Hyacinth could see it. “Yes, please consider that. Phe’dre and Joscelin went to great trouble to hide it properly.” _Or went through the charade of hiding it while it was being destroyed_ , that was my theory. “They were away from the country when Imriel’s need for them was dire, that kind of sacrifice is something I can’t dishonor.”

“Bah!” I sat on the window ledge, fists under tight control. “You sir are a monument to unrealized potential. Yes, this thing is bigger than myself or Sushulana, combined, we may not be able to handle it! Yet that does not stop us from trying, our lives may come to an end in this madness. I know that if I am killed, she intends to follow me as soon as she is sure that our children no longer need her.”

“Then I suggest you get her pregnant again as soon as possible.” He interjected smoothly, and poured me another glass.

My years with my mate had given me an appreciation for sharp witticisms, and for people who try to defuse frightening situations with humor. So, instead of tearing his head off, I accepted the drink. It was obvious my remark about unrealized potential had hit home, so I let it be. “You have some time to consider this, please inform the Cruach in the meanwhile. I must return to Krim, oh yes…. don’t wait for the Aragonian fleet if you change your mind, they may be too late. Or perhaps you can help with with that item.”

The Tsinagno blinked at my bravado, or perhaps my abrupt dismissal of the need for him. “That’s all?”

“There is much to do, _if_ we are to save Europa. Thank you for the suggestion, and the drink.” I held out my hand for him to shake, and he accepted it with some disbelief

  
“If I had known your sense of humor-“

“No, lets not mention that again. No need to put any strain on Alais’s credulity. And one other thing; Sushulana wants to withhold the worst of this, the full scope of this, from Imriel and Sidonie.”

“I understand.”

 

Sushulana was not amused when I opened a mental link to her, and told her what had happened. 

*Why that miserable old dried-up-*

**All true, so leave him to his ‘misery’ for now, he’s earned his perspective. Where are you now?**

*Halfway to Gurzoph, or whatever it is called*

**Why? I doubt any Ephesians are still alive**

*As do I, but there are ships there and I mean to have them. Then we will double back and clear the straits of any Tatar barges and boats*

**I’m glad you have no need of me yet. I am north of you, searching for something we need. Or rather, something Aneile will need if her Court and Parliament are up to their old tricks.**

*You are among their Scouts? Good, so tell me, how long do we have?*

**If they don’t make any mistakes and press onward no matter what… maybe 7 weeks before they hit the barrier you are thinking of**

*We will have to encourage them to make mistakes. Merri, its early summer. If they break through, Eastern Europa will be their’s by the time the weather stops them, and the rest of it next year*

**Then they won’t be allowed to break through**

*Not by _us_ *


	12. Chapter 12

12

 

 

 

It was instinct that guided my next move, rather than my so-called ‘powers’ of the mind. I have met some fellow psychics and none of them were what you would call stupid people, and yet they do tend to rely on the mental abilities that are considered extraordinary, and neglect other areas of them mind. This is inexcusable.  
My conversation with Sushulana reminded me that the enemy would have to push hard to reach Europa proper with time for a large campaign, and to move such a host required accurate knowledge of where they were going and what the conditions there would be. I made myself ‘dim’ and flew high among scattered clouds, above the rivers that lay between the Tatar horde and the west. I found them farther to the west that I would have liked, a small group of riders indistinguishable from others in the area but for their generous supply of remounts… and their thoughts.

There were seven Tatar, some of mixed blood, one local fellow who knew full well that the gold he was being given for his aid was being torn from his dead neighbor’s hands, and one man from Ch’in. The later pair were the ones I needed to interrogate, so I fanned the fires of resentment between the Tatar that thought of themselves as True-born and their vital yet despised Tatar that looked somewhat Vralian. The Ch’in gentleman and the local fellow, who was fully Vralian, made only a slight attempt to interrupt the violence before galloping away from the sudden bloodshed, and into my waiting grasp.

 

It was nearly mid-day when I arrived and the Palace of the Courcels. Would that I had looked ahead of me … no, I would have gone ahead regardless. Perhaps I would have come in with more tact.

Aye, and if perhaps Elua had settled among the Tatar none of this would have ever been necessary.

Queen Anielle was facing a crisis of the sort that a new ruler must expect in their first couple of years on the throne. Her youngest sibling had become enamored of the same Adept that a cousin from the L’Envers side of the family had been involved with for some time. The threat of impropriety at the highest levels, an aborted duel and a ruined marriage made this just the sort of scandal that the d’Angelines adore. The involvement of Naamah’s temple and House Bryony in opposition to each other elevated it to a test of Anielle’s ability to rule on her own…. and made it exactly the sort of mess that I had no patience for even in the best of times. Any delays in my mission would transform this into the very worst of times.

Whispered passwords gained me entry into a meeting that few others would have been allowed to enter. It had been arranged with the utmost delicacy and included just a score of people, advisors and vested interests and so one and so forth, and it pains me to admit that I entered into the room as a mad Bull in a hall of mirrors.

There can be no doubt that it all would have made for some fine tale of intrigue that the d’Angeline people love so very much. Here was the harried Priestess of Naamah trying to see that justice and love prevailed, and the Dowayne from Bryony seeking all possible advantage from the situation. There were cousins determined to help their favored relative even if that meant standing for them in a duel, and other family members who were seeking to moderate a potentially explosive situation. For a mercy, Imriel and Sidonie had left early for Montreve this year. This last fact emboldened me to to go straight to work rather than bypass Terre d’Ange for the day, which I saw as my only other choice.

My attire was more memorable than my face, which once again was my preferred human guise. I had taken the clothes of the Ch’in fellow that had been in the service of the Tatar, fortunately an unusually tall member of his race. Rough eastern garb thrown over the fine yet exceptionally resilient silk of the Far East made for a bewilderingly exotic look in the City of Elua. My own black and white clothes were rolled into a bundle thrown over my shoulder but the key item was the satchel that I carried in my hands, and what it contained.

Anielle tolerated my entry into the room because she thought I would bide my time. When she saw that I would not, she was annoyed, not alarmed.

*Must you?* She thought at me. Anielle was not psychic, she merely knew how to organize her thoughts.

**I _must_. Sushulana and I have not the power to deal with this. We are not strong enough on our own to save you from what is coming.** Now she was alarmed, enough  that she was jolted to a standing position without an audible word having passed between us. Everyone in the room was suddenly concerned enough to see me as a possible danger. Some of them even recalled my face from the year before last, giving rise to speculation later that would haunt me more that it would serve me. **Anielle, this cannot wait. The woman in question likes _that_  fellow, she fears _this_  one, and she herself has become bedazzled by the prospects this situation has presented her. Can you wrap this up in 5 minutes?**

Anielle nearly gaped at me before she recovered herself, and pointed at a door with one sharp gesture. “Wait for us there.” And mentally; *Who else?*

**They have already been summoned.** I bowed to her, later hearing that it was a very shallow bow, and marched off to a doorway that let out into an anteroom that suited my purpose very well. Brief and loud exclamations reached my ears as I put every chair in the room outside on the balcony and cleared the small table at the center of the room. There I placed my satchel and arranged the contents. The Queen’s senior military men were on their way, believing that they were only just recalling an appointment in this room. So was Anielle’s husband, who had held aloof from the scandal that me might function as a peacemaker later on. Making peace, another thing I had no time for, and when Prince Consort Jarrett burst into the room he looked as if he felt the same way. Close behind him was a General named Fouche’ and his entourage, and finally the Queen herself. Anielle looked pale, the Soldiers were mildly confused and Jarrett was upset with me. He knew the truth of me, unlike the military men, and so he held his displeasure under a tight reign. “Thank you for coming-“

*AS IF YOU GAVE US ANY CHOICE?* Jarrett thought at me harshly.

**If you’d rather, I can send all this information blazing straight into your mind.** Honestly, I had never liked the man. There are many good points to decisive behavior, yet there is also much to be said for moderation.

“Who is this man?” Fouche’ asked.

“A secret.” Anielle said quickly. “The real question is, what have you brought us, Merrin?”

“Something I took from a Tatar scout in western Vralia this… past month.” I explained to the Royal couple and half a dozen military advisors the background of the situation. Two years of catastrophe at the other end of the world was heading their way, and I had to be careful to phrase things in ways the would understand. Then I had to tell them the worst news of all, what the satchel had given us. “These papers … I don’t suppose you people have anyone that can translate them?”

They did not. Ch’in itself was more legend than established fact this far west. Perhaps in La Serinissima or Ephesus would have someone who could confirm the truth of what I had to say, independently.

“How do you know what is on them?” Jarrett asked pointedly. “Is the author your captive?”

I sighed, becoming annoyed myself. “Let’s just say, he confided in me before he ran out of breath.” I stabbed at a patchwork map, the sort drawn by a man who knew little of the place he was in, only what he had seen directly. “These rivers are the last barriers between the Tatar Horde and the eastern fringe of Skaldia. This,” I pointed out the text of a document written in the Ch’in pictographs, “is a surveyor’s report on possible crossing sites on those rivers. Up here, in this box, are his notes on the requirements of the army he is scouting a path for. THIS here, this is the number of horses that will be using the fords he discovers.” I paused and tapped the parchment. “That number is 650,00.”

One and all, the recoiled from the paper, and me. “There can’t be that many…”

I nodded to the General. “Each fighting man has a re-mount, and there are other horses pulling wagons loaded with supplies and siege engines. In all, I would say there are between 250-300 thousand warriors in that wave.”

“That _wave_?” 

“Yes, that is but the first, two more are behind it, each larger but with a progressively larger proportion of women, children and older folk. The only military potential in the 3rd wave is for protection and local raiding.”

“A nation on the move, indeed.” Anielle whispered.

“But that’s just it, its NOT a nation, its just a people. A vast gaggle of Tatar people placed together out of desperation and common purpose. Hammarartti, Attaluff, Ongesch, others. A Khan of all khans, an _Il_ -Khan, has bound them together for a purpose.”

“Kill him and you can stop them, yes?” Jarrett said hopefully.

I shook my head. “The need remains, the purpose, I mean. Yes, they could fall to chaos for a while, but for how long? And what sort of leader would replace this one? Better for them and worse for us, likely as not.”

“Better the Devil you know, yes?” Fouche’ said in a fatherly way, and glancing at Jerrett curiously. The Prince consort was only a couple of years younger than the Queen, and she was no longer young, so I looked more closely. Fouche’ was puzzled by the Prince’s suggestion about killing the Il-Khan, as if I just dash off and assassinate him in a routine mission for the Crown. These men were already curious enough about me, now matters were worse.

“Better to kill him only when it can be done in a way that refutes his very cause, his _raison de etre_ ’, agreed?” I said, trying to steer the conversation back to a useful direction.

“How?

 “Unknown. We will have to keep our eyes open for an opportunity. My mate is probably working on that very problem now.” Since they were about to ask anyway, I continued; “She has rallied the defense of Krim and narrowly saved that place from a Tatar coupe.” I glance into the eyes of Anielle and Jarrett told them exactly how I felt about Sushulana being in such a dangerous position more efficiently than any mental messaging could.

“What can we do?” Anielle asked, treating me to a glimpse of what made her such a successful ruler. The very tone of her voice, combined with her earnest expression, was enough to make almost anyone in the room want to be reasonable.

I couldn’t help smiling slightly, and the Queen grinned in return. I tipped my head at her, acknowledging her skill. I who had known her since birth could not be swayed by her charms, I had witnessed their development via much trial and error, but I was still impressed. “What you can do is send your Army east, today. Send only what you can get to the eastern part of Skaldia in 5 weeks, 6 at the most. That is how long we have before the Tatar reach the last River that will present any sort of barrier to them. That is where we must make our stand.”

Fouche’ and his men put their heads together for less than a minute. Without realizing it, they were using the seeds of the methods that Sushulana had planted here nearly half a century before. They calculated the distances in their heads, and for the Cavalry it was just barely possible to cross Skaldia in time… if the Skaldi cooperated. They also knew the number of barges and ships available to transport infantry and the bare minimum of supplies they would need. They nodded as they checked what they already knew about their own capabilities. “It won’t be enough. Not enough to do anything save for a glorious death and an unprecedented alliance with the Skaldi. Even if double the number of Skaldi are present as were at Troyes l’Mont, and that river is broad, it will not be enough to stop a horde like the one you describe.”

“Aragon and Alba are already preparing to ship what Armies they can to aid us.” Everyone in the room wanted to know how it was that Kingdoms west of them were informed of this before they were, so I hurried to add; “I will go to the Skaldi next and inform them of this and of your needs. After that I must see to La Serenissima, Tiber, Helles and Ephesus. The Chowat lastly, they must have an inkling of what is happening, and all they must to is secure their mountainous frontier.”

“You?” Fouche’ asked skeptically. “Taking a lot on for yourself, aren’t you?”

After a slip like that, I should have corrected myself, or avoided the question, or made mention of the Bird Post. Instead I said something that would get me out of that room as soon as possible, thinking little of future consequences. “Gentlemen, if you can find anyone that can tell you they saw me enter this Palace, or this City, or even this Province, feel free to disregard everything I just said to you.” To the Queen I said; “And I must leave, immediately.”

“Surely you can spare us a moment, Merrin.” And now I saw her iron, Queen Anielle was not making a request of me. She and Jarrett advanced as one and guided me to the doorway to the balcony. They could go no farther as it was blocked by a stack of chairs. She whispered angrily at me once we were out of earshot of the soldiers. “Are you deliberately trying to impugn my reign? Oh, don’t look at me like that, not once did you even say ‘your highness’ or anything similar. Dragon you may be, but I have to _rule_  here!”

“Then rule.” I snapped back. “You have your secret messenger, so? Alba has its mysterious Mage and its Witches-“

“Any of whom could have handled this better than you just did!” she hissed back at me.

Jarrett snorted. “ _Sushulana_ could have handled this better.”

“Ah, so the feeling is mutual.” I’m afraid I must have smirked at him, not the best reaction to show a Prince.

“Damn right it is!” he leaned towards me, lips tight around his hushed voice. Part of my amusement was that he was so mad that he had forgotten he could simply frame thoughts in his head and “push” them at me. His thoughts ran all the way back two decades, and the certain knowledge that had I been there that day, I never would have allowed Anielle to approach him at all.

The Queen’s skirt swished an her heel came down on Jarrett’s foot, then mine, and none too gently. “Enough! Let us stay with the practical facts. Merrin, how dangerous is Sushulana’s situation right at this moment?” Ah, an implication that Sushunala’s peril was the thing making me so impatient, how wonderful.

I shook my head. “No more than usual, at times like this. She… she will demand a unified command once the Armies have assembled.” Before they could finish their impatient nods, I said; “And she will be the overall commander, some way or another.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am certain that she is best qualified, and that the Chowatti and the Skaldi will agree to it.”

“Are you so eager to cast aside your veil of secrecy?” Anielle asked softly, and she had the presence of mind to add, silently; *Are you forgetting your vow to Elua?*  
That, of course, gave me more pause than some aching toes. “We have out-waited rumors before… but yes, you are right. We will set up a Warlord, she will be at his side as a Dark Advisor or something similar… posing as his glorified camp-follower if need be.”

Even Jarrett pulled back, jaw dropping. He knew of Sushulana, he had met her several times, and he had some idea of how distasteful a charade of that sort would be to her. I think that only then the true seriousness of the situation dawned on him. I took advantage of the space he gave me by slipping past them to gather my things from the table. The soldiers had been pawing them, touching the satchel and rubbing the parchment between their fingertips. I had allowed this because I do know something of the human animal. Touching and sniffing at those items went far to convince these men that the itmes were legitimately exotic. The writing and the marks on the map might be illegible to them, but the texture and the scent was like nothing they had encountered on this continent. There are truths that we must trust our instincts to lead us into.  
They did not interfere as I put the papers back, but they did have a question. “Will Krim be helpful, can they attack the Tatar in concert with our own efforts?”

“Raiding the Tatar rear will be the best they can do, I suspect. Never fear, they will do what they can to help you. A goodly number of them are d’Angeline folk, in fact.” It was certainly my day to leave open-mouthed people in my wake. I returned to Anielle and Jarrett. **Yes, it is true, and that is why we have what warning we do of this. They asked me to say no more, but it might be a good idea to send a ship or ten that way as soon as you can. One other thing, Sushulana asks that you not tell your parents the full measure of what is happening here. She is very concerned-**

*unlike yourself* Anielle mentally grumbled at me.

**I am concerned that you will do as I asked. _Will_ you?**

*of course*

**Then that is all that matters, and for that I thank you.** I knelt before Anielle and Jarrett, head down and spoke in a deeply respectful tone. “Then with your permission, Highnesses, I will be on my way to do Elua’s bidding.”

Anielle put her hand lightly on top of my head, taking advantage of my gesture even as she accepted it. “God’s speed to you then, and we shall meet again,” *and speak more of this* “someday soon.”

Jarrett stepped past me, and Anielle automatically moved with him on his flank. He spoke to Fouche’ and his men; “Gentlemen, we have much to do and little time.”  
I got to my feet as soon as they were past me and pushed my way past the chairs. Once out on the balcony, I stepped into the Overworld. It was better than vanishing before their eyes, and a mystery that could be explained away by ropes or something equally mundane.


	13. Chapter 13

**Part III;**   
**of Dogs and War**

 

Chapter 13

 

 

 

The rest of my meetings over the next 12 hours went more smoothly, and the depressing irony was not lost on me. I allowed more time for these seven meetings, a needful concession as I had no contacts in any of those places. Admittedly, I softened my approach, somewhat, however I was also more free to use my mental influences. I did not make any of those people my mental puppets, it is with all earnestness that I would remind anyone reading this that such things _always_  backfire in the end. It was merely a means to remind them of past lessons that bore me out, or to make them forget political complications that would make them hesitate to give the right promises. Three major Steadings in Skaldia, two stops in Caerdicci Unitas, and one each in Hellas and Ephesus, and my work for the day was done… just in time to start worrying about the day ahead.

For my own part. there was little to worry about when I had finished my work in Ephesus. Across the Euxine Sea (what we had thought of as the Black Sea) Sushulana’s progress had beggared any man’s supply of superlatives. She rode the Grand Master and his men to Gursuf along the beach, surf and sand muffling their approach. The town fell easily to them, the bulk of the Tatar were still outside the walls, and they were able to commandeer all the ships on the docks. The Tatars that had wanted to annihilate the Knights elsewhere soon returned to Gursuf with the intention of doing just that, and my mate was ready for them. Taking a page from my own past, she set fires in a pattern that ensnared the enemy and killed them to the last man. There were no non-Tatar in the town, and many of the civilians who had fled were found crowded into another ship that had run aground on a sandbar a few miles away. Without pausing to do any more than pull that ship free, Sushulana put all the fighting men she could on that little flotilla and doubled back toward Kalamach Cin. The one warship of their own had was just clearing that harbor when she arrived, and thus was just in time to take part in the eastward sweep. It was not much of a fleet, but it was still enough to demolish the Il-Khan’s rickety assortment of barges and other captured boats. Sushulana and the knights wisely held back until nightfall before raiding the would-be invaders in their own ports, and yet it was already over when I contacted her a little after midnight.

Few had died among our new allies. For the Tatar, this was the end of their hopes of taking Krim by storm.

It was a fantastic accomplishment that displayed the skills and energy that Sushulana brought to the scene, in a way that nothing else she had yet done in this world could, and one that she would never be given credit for back in Terre d’Ange… the very place we were fighting for. The cloak of secrecy we had to labor under would see to that, and giving credit to those Knights was not something that could ever be reversed. That should not have bothered me, but it did. It bothered me a lot, and Sushulana sensed that as soon as we made mental contact.

*What is wrong?* she wanted to know.

**I’m exhausted.** Its not possible to lie communicating this way, but it is possible to state other truths. **It is not possible for me to go any farther tonight. Can you send messages to your friends in the Chowat?** She was as tired as I was, more so and nearly ready to collapse into her more frequent sleep-cycle, and even so she immediately started working on the necessary spells. **I love you.**

*As thou wilt! Don't fret, a message is far less taxing than actual travel, even your sort* she answered cheerfully.

I could not help repeating my last three words to her, and when she was done I asked; **How long for the return journey to Kalamach Cin?**

*The same wind that helped us along for the attack is against us now, of course. A couple of days, maybe less.* She fell into a bunk that had been set aside, and our contact began to fade.

**Expect me there** I broke the contact then. If I had not, she would have pushed herself past her own limits to hold it. As it was, I hoped that she would not assume my last words were not part of a dream.

 

Two days and half a night later I was standing on the wharf to greet her ship, as promised. Sushulana leapt from the gangplank to wrap me in a hug that involved both arms and both legs. She had managed to find rest during her days at sea, and I had been able to indulge in some of the brief and unsatisfying slumber that my human body can provide.

Her very public and very affectionate display was observed with knowing smiles by the d’Angeline folk, and differently by the others. Others…. for the first time I noticed the Ephesians. Sushulana had boarded the ship that had been grounded outside Gursuf, the one crowded with refugees, and had remained aboard during the attack and the return trip. She had chosen the most crowded and least useful ship in the little flotilla for reasons of her own, and I did not question them, I was simply glad to have her back. The Ephesians looked away, their propriety mildly offended, but made no sign of it and dared speak no words. After three days of her stern ways and having seen how deadly she could be, they were glad to see the last of her and for a chance to go ashore. Thus, it was the perfect time for me to block their way, and make something very clear to them.

“I was never here. This woman was NEVER here. If you wish to show us any gratitude at all, if you wish to stay in our good graces, you will show it by re-imagining your tales of these events in a way that does not include us.” The Ephesians gave me a disgruntled look and simply shrugged, they had never seen me before and could not care less about anything aside from getting off that ship and finding something to eat. The d’Angeline folk, however…

“Does that go for us as well?” d’Viars asked from behind me as Sushulana dismounted from me and straightened herself out a little.

“That would go for you and your people most especially.” I faced him without any rancor, I hope. “I have informed the people of Terre d’Ange of your existence, but no other details. You have some months to consider what you wish to reveal about yourselves to them when they make contact with you. Here and now, I demand you swear that you will not reveal anything about myself of Sushulana to any of d'Angeline that does not wear a crown… and I shall do the same courtesy for you all.”

“I…. I think….” d’Viars stammered and took a half-step back from me, my stare must have been more intense than I had hoped. He who had seen my true form was having a moment of panic, perhaps having seen what I was capable of was the reason why.

I shook my head and passed my hand over my face, a human gesture to show I was still feeling the effects of so much activity. “Yes, I know, you can not speak for everyone. Let us have another one of the meetings in that grand Hall you are so enamored of. And some Tea, if you please, I think we could all use some.” Sushulana nodded and leaned against me, getting her ‘land-legs’ back quickly, yet not quickly enough for the long walk to the center of town.

**Oh, go ahead.**

I knelt slightly, and she scrambled up onto my back with her legs wrapped around my hips and held by my hands, and her arms draped over my shoulders. A very comfortable situation, with her chin resting on my shoulder, close enough to my ear that we could secretly converse without resorting to psychic means. “Ah, you smell so good.” I did not comment on how she smelled at that moment. “Its just as well that I have to go to the Skaldi now, I may have rubbed these gents the wrong way.”

Shrugging, I said; “So be it, you ram-rodded a difficult operation and no doubt proved yourself right and them wrong several times over. I’m sure they won’t mind seeing the last of you, but can they do what is needed without you?”

“Sure they can,” She yawned in my ear, and then kissed it. "Not these people, but the Skaldi on the rest of the island… peninsula, whatever this is. They have built a fine wall across the ithsmus, hardly need my help to hold that against anyone. Once we hit the river mouths and eliminate any other ships the Tatar might have seized, this place will be safe enough. Then these people can do exactly what the Tatar were afraid they could; raid the fringes of the 2nd and 3rd waves as they go lumbering along over hill & dale.”

“Slowing them down, mayhap, still leaving the most dangerous ‘wave’ for Europa to deal with.”

“That means I need to be in Skaldi proper as soon as possible. Let’s keep this meeting with the Knights short and sweet.” She sighed, and so did I. Recent experience had reminded us that “short” and “sweet” did not often come together in such circumstances.

Nor did it that day, perhaps less said is better than more on that occasion.

 

In the weeks that followed, things came together more or less as Sushulana had predicted… and feared. The Chowatti were very successful defending their long & mountainous eastern frontier, and became more of less stuck there.

Sushulana explained it to me thusly; “The only benefit mountain ranges give you are that they channelize and slow down the enemy movements. Once they are committed to certain passes, that’s it, they have to try to Bull their way through it, and it takes time. That’s all there is to it, everything else up there plays no favorites, defender or attacker. So what the Chowat are doing is plug every pass with 2nd rate warriors, and have everyone with a horse and the men with the strongest legs standing by to race to whichever passes the Tatar have chosen for their invasion.” It worked very well, fortunately. The unfortunate part was, the Chowat could spare nobody to help with other situations to the north or the south.

The best news we received was from the south, where an advanced party of thousands of Tatar from the 2nd wave attempted to break into Ephesus. They were ambushed by a combined army of Hellas and Ephesians that enjoyed an advantage in numbers, thanks to our warnings. The 2nd Wave never again attempted an independent offensive.  
Pleasing as all this was to hear, it also meant that every bit of the 1st Wave’s attentions would be focussed on the one place where Europa as a whole was most vulnerable.

 

 

The hosts gathering in Skaldia was impressive, even to me. The Skaldi themselves were able to gather fifty thousand men afoot and seven thousand on horse, more cavalry than even Sushulana had hoped for. Distant Aragon had only enough shipping in the right place and time to send five thousand men, two-fifths of those were excellent Cavalry. Alba had scrapped together three thousand warriors, as well as one thousand Horse or Chariots. Terre d’Ange had found transport for only five thousand heavy infantry, and more than made up for that by sending an equal number of mounted men east, practically every man at arms in the Kingdom that could ride a horse and/or fight. Caerdicci Unitas surprised us all by sending six thousand men afoot, light infantry sent with little baggage aside from coin-purses to buy what they needed along the way. There were also three thousand mounted men, but many of those were men who rode to battle and then fought on foot, rather than true cavalry. There were also Jutes, I had to be shown a map to find where _they_ had come from, that little place had sent 1,000 men who reportedly _ran_  from one end of Skaldia to the other in order to arrive before they missed out on the coming battle. Gotland floated nine thousand men over the sea and straight into the area of greatest danger, along with five hundred men that had horses. Another pleasing surprise was the Flatlander contingent; 2,000 men that had poled their little watercraft up rivers and along the coast in time to join us, and 1,000 mounted warriors also made the journey.

In all, 81,000 infantry and 17,500 mounted men of various sorts. It was the largest force assembled in Europa since the fall of the Tiberian Empire.

And it was absolutely dwarfed by Tatar horde descending upon us.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

 

 

 

I found her one day in a tent open on three sides that was pitched on a knoll overlooking some open fields.

Sushulana was wearing her illusion of Humanity, and to save as much effort as possible she was looking very much like her true self. She could not command this grand host herself, nor could she Buffalo them the way she had in Krim under the guise of a temporary emergency. Our chosen figurehead was a Chieftain named Rennenkampf. Here was a man with a natural talent for leadership, he was popular with his own people and other Chieftains did not overly resent him nor was he know to hold much jealousy, and he did have a certain flare for organization. This man was primarily interested in bringing industry into his region and the use of water-mills, his reputation among the mercantile class was second to none. As with all important Skaldi in those days, he could also fight well enough, in a duel.

Rennenkampf knew about as much as the average Goat when it came to running an Army.

This man and 3 of his closest companions knew something of the truth about Sushulana. To everyone else in Skaldia she was some sort of “dark advisor” or perhaps a witch of some sort. There was talk that she must be a defector from the Tatar and therefore of questionable loyalty We quashed that rumor every time we met, greeting each other in a way that made those that saw us shake their heads and mutter something about us being ‘typical d’Angeline’.

Their pet-name for her was _“unser giftswerg”,_ which could alternately mean “our tough little bastard” or “poison dwarf”, depending on how they used it. Sushulana made little note of that, and fired off her suggestions in the same abrupt manner no matter what she was called, or by whom. I myself had always seen that as a defect in her character, but in this environment I saw its value. The enormous stresses that people are subjected to in a warlike environment are difficult to describe to someone that has never experienced them, but there is one way I can hint at them. A Ceardicci Cavalry officer later remarked to me that the Tatar had caused him some anxiety now and then, his troops had nearly killed him by accident more than once, the Skaldi had been so insufferable that he’d fought 2 duels since breakfast, and that his own superior officer’s incompetence had nearly driven him insane on a daily basis.

Under such circumstances the language used becomes rough and colorful, and true military professionals tend to devote their attention to _what_  is being said, and very little to _how_  it is being said.

 

On that day, she was not standing directly in the shadow of Rennenkampf. Sushulana was back at the one side of the tent where one canvas wall was still in place, huddled with the aides d’camp of the senior commanders. The Generals were all gathered round Rennenkampf at the other end of the tent as they watched and commented on various groups of soldiers drilling. This was no glittery parade practice, the troops were practicing the very movements that they would have to use against the Tatar horde, perhaps in just a few days. While those men watched their soldiers sweat, Sushulana’s group was bent over maps and papers full of figures, lists and diagrams. That was where the real plan was being finalized. _Her_ plan, and if it worked, Rennenkampf would get the credit. He would be hailed as the Selig of a new age, and the one that got it right for Skaldia… while we faded back into obscurity. Such a fate didn’t bother Sushulana, but it bothered me.

The only member of Rennenkampf’s delegation that kept glancing at the Junior’s table was the Crown Prince of Terre d’Ange. Sushulana never looked up from what she was doing, not once. I smiled as I walked up to her, ignoring Jarrett projecting his thoughts at me, and hugged her from behind as she paused in her presentation. She turned her head and smiled warmly back up at me, d’Angeline indeed, and earning another round of rolling eyes and stifled comments from those non-d’Angeline gathered around us.

I was known to these people as a type of wizard that could move about in mysterious ways, and this was something they _needed_ to believe. They needed to believe the veracity of my reports, if nothing else. The supposed indignity of the pose I put Sushulana in was as nothing, even to the coarsest Mercenary in our presence. After days in her company, _they_ knew Sushulana for the Field Marshal she was. Rennenkampf had even used her for a stand-in for three of the duels he was challenged with, I daresay that some of them now feared her… not such a bad thing where Skaldi are concerned.

Others were not so enchanted with us, Crown Prince Jarrett among them. He left the gathering of senior commanders and stalked towards us as Sushulana read something in my eyes that stole the smile from her face. She turned to face me, and asked aloud; “Bad news.”

I sighed, and said in the same way, as all of the men gathered here had to know the truth in any case; “The worst. I just had a look at the 3rd wave-“

“They have decided to crush Krim!”

“No, love, that is one complication we will be spared. It is …. the Plague. It is nipping at their heels once again.”

Here eyes went wide and dark at the same time, but she managed to keep her face and voice calm and flat. “Oh, yes, that’s worse. For months they have been free of it… or were they?”

The men around us attempted to emulate Sushulana’s icy calm, some doing better than others. A couple of them cringing back from us, from _me,_ and one of those held out an arm to check Jarreth’s approach. The Price did not have to feign his own self-control. The horror of fighting a plague-bearing Army was something he had been concerned with from the very start. Rather loudly so. “Is there any chance you came in contact with…”

I winced a tiny bit myself. “No, not at all, I didn’t actually go among them. It is a minor outbreak, but the signs are obvious even from a distance.” I paused, thoughtfully, and before he Prince or Sushulana could press me; “The odd thing was, there was a little caravan of Ch’in specialists among them, part of that 3rd wave that was meant to fight this plague. They just departed those people and are moving swiftly in this direction.”

“Fleeing punishment for having botched their jobs, or something else? Sushulana asked.

“How swiftly?” asked Jarrett.

I could only shrug at my mate’s query, and to the Prince; “Very. They have the strongest horses among all the hordes, and that is saying a great deal. Their wagons are light and strong, you’ve never seen the like. They may need a week to reach the 1st wave, they might even need less that that.”

Sushulana was the first to grasp how this fit in with the greater scheme of things. “Headed to the army we face here, and in great haste.” She ran her tongue over her teeth, and looked up at me again with glittering eyes. “If they are answering a summons, then we have exactly that much more time to prepare ourselves. ‘Specialists’, physicians you mean… heh, the Khan wants his best at the battle, the women and children 500 miles away be damned, eh?”

  
“That would be my guess.”

“Your _guess?”_ Jarrett was just as quick as Sushulana, at times. “We must know for certain. You must go amongst them to do so, mustn’t you?”

My mate was constructing a rather clever and frightening string of obscene suggestions to the Prince in her mind. I laid a restraining hand on her shoulder in case she should let them fly, and I answered him. “Yes, it would be best to know their intentions in detail, and direct contact is needed for that. One or two of them could have the wrong idea, after all-”

“Then that is what you must do.”

So there is was. A direct order from the Crown, and truly the only sensible thing to do. Hopefully, I would not contract the plague myself, but that was secondary. By the covenant that bound us to Terre d’Ange, I really had no choice in the matter once I was given a command by the Crown. And for some reason he thought he had to add; “And please, have a care not to destroy them. If the il-Khan is waiting for them, and then finds that they are not coming, we will lose those precious days.”

I quickly laid a another hand on Sushulana. She and Jarrett had been getting along reasonably well, until this point. Now she felt like a Hornet’s nest under my palms, ready to belch and avenging swarm of poisonous insects. I gently suggested a different course of action to her.

“Will that be ALL, yer’ Royal Highness?” Her venomous tone cause raised eyebrows all around the table, and even attracted Remmenkampf’s notice ten paces away.  
Jared blinked, but otherwise maintained and impeccable bearing. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Good!” She tossed her pointer to one of her own aides. “Take over, we have some preparations to make.” She left the table so abruptly that I did stumble, just a little, trying to keep up with her.


	15. Chapter 15

15

 

 

A tent in the middle of a military encampment is not a very appealing location for a mid-day assignation, yet it made no difference to Sushulana. She was as hungry for this as ever, and her confrontation with the Prince had done nothing to ’spoil the mood’. Conflict aroused her as much as it ever had, and afterwards it was as if she hadn’t a care in the world… aside from one.

“I should go with you this time.”

True foolishness, that. If there was truly plague there, she would be more susceptible than I, and my own vulnerability was an unknown thing. She did extract a promise from me that I would keep my mind open to her at all times, and she would stay in her tent demanding a rest from any that would disturb her today or tonight. Would that it could actually be the kind of rest she deserved, rather than mentally piggy-backing on my misadventures.

 

Not long after I said my goodbye to her (would that it had been a better one) I was standing behind a thin screen of bushes, watching the little caravan pass my by. I was dimmed to their perceptions, but as I have said; it is foolish to rely too greatly on one’s ‘gifts’. What I saw with my own eyes were a collection of carriages with large, slender wheels that moved with a singular grace over the dirt track that passed for a road in this part of the world. I squatted on my haunches to confirm the reason why these wagons were not disturbed by the ruts and bumps, and I saw the metal springs bracing the axels. Spring steel, invented in the Chowatt, brought to China somehow, and now completing the circuit of it’s journey in a place where the Chowatt itself was just days away. Something to ponder on a quieter day, my thoughts on seeing this detail was this; just how rich would someone have to be to obtain spring steel in such quantity to outfit several carriages and wagons in this way?  
What could have been their purpose in doing so?

That the wagons were Ch’in-made was not in doubt. The strategically placed furs and fabric could not make them look like Tatar conveyances to any world-wise eyes, such as my own. A scout born and bred to Europa might make that mistake, what other errors might they have made?

Their thoughts were more difficult to glean anything useful from. Double the usual number of horses were pulling their carriages along at a trot, so the men and women inside were mainly occupied with thoughts of hanging on, weariness and boredom. The men were Ch’in, and highly educated ones as we had suspected. The women were all Tatar, part of the group meant to preform the menial chores that ranged from sleeping with these men to driving their wagons. None of the women were ugly, by Ch’in standards, so this group must enjoy considerable favor… yet i also noticed the lack of military escort. A handful outriders and a dozen mounted men leading the way was all I could detect, and the men from Ch’in were barely armed.

*They fear being sighted by enemy scouts, but have no great fear of being attacked by them.* Sushulana clarified for me.

**Do you have anyone this far east?**

*No, but there are Vralians about, and I have no idea how daring d’Viars and his boys are feeling these days. *

**What else? What does this make you think of?**

*Back on Narva…* I was grateful that she could think of that place with only a slight mental stutter now. * this is similar to how a band of war-wizards would travel.*

**You, my dear, are the only living being that would qualify as such on this world.**

*Be _careful_!*

I immediately defied her advice by stepping out into the road after the last wagon had passed. There was an older man sitting in the rear of that wagon, reading a scroll on warfare by a long-dead scholar. He was hoping to have something profound to say when he caught up with the Khan when I subtly caught his attention. He looked up at me, and from a distance I was nothing remarkable, just another man wandering a land turned upside-down. What I wanted him to see was the eastern horizon, and I gave him the subtlest of mental nudges to think of what he had left behind him. What we called the 3rd wave they had just left behind them, and the new outbreak of sickness. I had to be careful, subtle indeed lest he turn out to be an exceptional mind, my reading of him could be detected.

I was not sensed by him in any special way, but the tiny thought for people he had left behind was so inexplicable to me that I stood in the middle of that road for some time, wondering if I had read him correctly.

**Satisfaction?**  
What did they have to be satisfied about? They had left before they had a chance to do anything about the outbreak. They had no reason to flee what they had been dealing with all along, did they? Plague had dogged the Tatar’s steps since they had left Ch’in, one could even say that their westward trek had become a necessity, born of out-racing this awful pestilence…

A hot wave of rage engulfed me at that moment, there is no telling what I might have done, nor the shape that I myself would have taken. Only one thing stopped me, only one thing _could_ have. An instant before all the pieces came together in my head, Sushulana flew into a rage of her own. Her own suspicious mind had already considered the possibility of the truth that had just burst upon me. Her mind is no more attractive than the rest of her when she is in a rage, and she was preparing to use a spell to leap through the aether to do things to that party that were so dark that they might mar her soul. There was no reasoning with her at that moment, not even I could have warned her that using such magic when she was so agitated could leave her with a foul reputation on this world.

I have other powers, great ones, and in a matter of seconds Sushulana fell to a dizzy heap at the entrance to her tent. A moment later the more primitive part of her brain was obeying my suggestion that now would be a good time to sleep, for the rest of the day. No forgetfulness or urge to forgive me was a part of this, I would face the consequences of what I had done as the mate of any such women _should_ , later. Best to face such things honestly, and I am a Dragon, what more need be said?

My thoughts were already turning from her, and towards the most heinous treachery I had ever imagined. Thanks to what Sushulana had nearly done, I was able to control my own self. A walk, such a simple thing, but why not? I set off after the Ch’in renegades on human-seeming feet at a pace that would not allow them to escape me.

 

Hours later, they made camp. I observed from half a league away, standing in the open and cloaked in my broadcast suggestion that I wasn’t noticeable. Such a typical little encampment from a distance, but there were clever little touches. The sides of the wagons were hinged at the sides, parked side by side they could be sung out and up to form peaked roofs & large shelters… there were other things that I was too angry to notice. They were so smug! When I could stand it no more I walked directly into the camp. The sun had just set and it was not truly dark. A mounted warrior came to intercept me while I was still a bowshot from the camp, no one else paid me any attention, even after I dropped my mental camouflage. In no way did I have the patience to deal with any underlings, I had his horse sink it’s teeth into the flesh of his thigh and cast the man at my feet, where I stomped his skull flat with one step that was just slightly out of my way. At the entrance to one of the combined wagons, one of the rougher looking women stepped out into my way as if she meant to detain me. I slapped her mouth shut and tossed her unconscious body up onto the roof of the wagon. Neither of my victims had made a noise of their own, and the tumble of flesh hitting the roof was the only warning the men inside had of my arrival.

Not young, not old, middle-aged men that had not forgotten the inspiring and original thoughts that they had as young men, and acted on them in pursuit of their inventions. Would that they had hearts to match their fertile minds. Three of them, minds open to me as they saw the look on my face, and all wondered the same thing; _DOES_ **HE** _KNOW_?

Their great secret, perhaps this was the first thing they wondered whenever they met someone new. Their anxiety must have been the one great constant in their lives for the last two years. I hoped so, I hoped that their self-congradulations at their cleverness or their pride in redeeming themselves for Ch'in were overshadowed by the constant, gnawing fear of discovery. And now, that day had come.

**YES!** I said with a brutal mindcast. **I KNOW THAT YOU WERE THE ONES THAT INVENTED PORT-A-PLAGUE. I KNOW THAT YOU WORMED YOUR WAY INTO THE TATAR HORDE TO AVOID YOUR PUNISHMENT IN CH’IN, AND I KNOW THAT YOU HAVE BEEN USING YOUR INVENTION TO GOAD THE TATAR INTO ATTACKING WESTWARDS. I AM HERE TO DO SO MUCH DAMAGE TO YOUR MINDS THAT THE AFTERLIFE ITSELF WILL BE NO CONSOLATION TO YOU!**

Upon reflection, I must admit that I was acting rashly, alto it did not seem to at that moment. These wizards of the biological world had been caught flat-footed, and in their panic they started throwing things at me. A writing tablet, a scroll, a mixing bowl at first, and then other things hastily grabbed up as I took a few steps forward. I slapped them aside with ease and with enough power to shatter some of those items. Oh, yes, I was savoring their panic, something that stoked my rage instead of assuaging it, unfortunately. The next barrage included a poisoned dart, a pot of ink, and some religious icon that sailed straight at my eyes.

I slapped the thing aside,

\- _discontinuity_ -

and was instantly elsewhere. I know very well what those illusions are, and how they work. This was different.

I was nowhere, and I was also… nothing! There WAS nothing, only the black void all around me. I was lost in it. My death, perhaps, altho not the sort I had expected for myself. Ah…. the regrets, they truly are as dreadful as you might expect, worse even. The very first thought that went through me was how hard this would be for Sushulana, our children-  
\- and then things changed, shifted. I was still trapped in a void, but the emotional state of my mind cleared, as if I had fallen from a cliff in darkness and found myself in calm, still waters without some great splash, or even getting wet. Was I… well ... I honestly had no idea what was happening to me.

*Good to hear you admit that. Are you ready to open your mind to ME, dear Merrin?*

A voice, a presence, and an undeniable truth, all in one. This presence was ultimately feminine all all its forms, from the most glorious to the most ghastly and made no apology for any of it. One of it’s facets was under-handed murder, and I had defeated it in ages past.

Yes, _this_  was a mystery familiar to me, and all the more terrible for that.

**Kali…**


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like this chapter. it is all coming together nicely now.

16

 

I could see the icon that had been thrown at me more clearly in that void than I had when it was coming at my head. Blacker than black, a savage woman with so many arms that it had seemed more like a disc than a fan of hands. It, and the voice that vibrated in my head were the only things that I was aware of. The vibrations were all that made me aware of my head, the rest of my body was reduced to a vague abstraction.

“Do you know why you are here?”

“Well, Kali, it would appear that I am dead and you get first crack at my soul. Is that about right?”

“YES!” She lied, but for an instant that carried all the implications of eternity, it seemed as if it might be true. “Are you frightened, at last?”

I had to admit that I was, yet something else bothered me. “Not as much as I _should_ be. Is this a feature of death… this detachment form emotions?”

“Yes it is, very good, very clever of you… however, this is not death.” She (if “she” seems a small word to call a Goddess, it is, and yet one must remember that Kali is an ultimately feminine being) regarded me for a long moment, inspecting me. I knew she was doing so because those vibrations were now coursing through my body. My true body, all Dragon now, and yet feeling so tiny. That must have been in relation to the presence I found myself surrounded by. I had killed an Avatar of this Goddess, which I now  knew to be nothing like the true thing itself, no more than a Remora is the Shark that it clings too. She knew what I was thinking almost as soon as it occurred to me. “And yet you took so much pride in the title you gained from that little event. “ _The Killer of Kali_ ”, you reveled in it. Tsk, that was naughty of you, and so short-sighted. Everyone dies eventually, you know.” Her examination of me stopped before it could become unbearably intrusive. This was interesting, and even more interesting was the next thing she said; “You stopped using that title when you settled on this world with Sushulana. Why?”

“I… haven’t given it much through.” This was no evasion. Being as blatantly truthful as Sushulana appeared to be the only sane path to follow in this situation. “Discovering that I am not dead yet is penetrating this emotional fog and…. may I have a moment?”

“Of course.”

I have been in many situations that are strange beyond the telling… which is as they should be, I suppose. None approached the outright weirdness of being shown consideration by a Goddess that I had caused pain, and who’s name I had dragged through the mud. I had hated her, despised her and her followers … on a world that was now a lifeless husk. I can theorize that this made a difference to me more than this emotion-deadening field I was in, but what of Kali? _She_ was different here too, vastly so… unless I was being fooled. “Because none of that is important to me anymore. History is a lesson, not a millstone to be worn around our necks, nor an excuse for our current behavior.”

I thought it was a good answer, yet Kali was vaguely amused. “A plea for mercy? No, not from you, never from Merrin the Gray! But you have over-stepped much more recently than that. You just threatened to harm those men so badly that their after-life would be damaged. That is OUR territory, Dragon."

“I took a new faith when I arrived here, pledged myself to the new Gods, the ones that I feel make this world so different. Why am I not facing them for this transgression?”

“Unfinished business between you and I, but we will get to that later.”

“oh… joy,”

“Perhaps it will be! You must admit that it was you who opened the door to this encounter. Yes, yes, words spoken in anger, and in truth you only have a vague idea of how you could possibly do such a thing. Still, the intention was there, and you have the most maddening way of achieving your goals. Now stop and think again, it nearly served you well last time. The answer to your questions are in the answer you neglected to finish giving me earlier.”

I did so, reviewing the conversation in my mind. This was not as easy as it sounds, as a new thought was nagging me; time might not be flowing here in a normal was, and Sushulana still needed me.

“No, Merrin, she does not.

“This is going to be even more difficult if you keep interrupting my thoughts.”

Kali laughed, at me. “The dividing line between thought and word is purely a figment of your imagination. Be that as it may, your resolve to be truthful to me is appreciated.”

“She does need me. I know what you stand for, and I do not believe that a woman is superior to a man whom she cannot best on the battlefield because she can assassinate him in the bedroom.”

“Then you have chosen a most peculiar mate.” I think I sensed her sneer. “And you must hope you are wrong. I want to see if she can. I like her much more than I do you.”

“That seems to be a recurring theme.” I didn’t imagine my own sneer, insubstantial as it may have been.

“Does that not bother you?” Another wave of vibrations. “Ah, I see. When you were the most popular being on your birth-world, you lead your people to disaster. And for so long, you have hidden behind a cloak of anonymity, or in fearsome shadows. You’d still be there if it were not for Sushulana. This new Empire of yours, brave of you, and of her… mostly _you_ I think. It is the thing that makes us hope that you really do have faith.”

I waited, but she did not clarify. “…. _in_?”

“A great many things. Elua, your covenant with him, your mate, your self.” The way she separated ‘your’ and ‘self’ was interesting, instead of making it one word as is so commonly done. “Things _are_  different in this world, Emperor… but what about you?”

 

One should be aware that my sang froid was not as perfect as it may seem up to this point. Being in the clutches of a hostile Goddess was horrid enough, add to that the uncertainty of the hostility itself made things worse. The uncertainness of her motives and my position would have driven me wild in my youth. There was also Sushulana’s situation, and all the others that were depending on me to help defend the better part of a continent. There was also a basic _wrongness_ here, this was not the way this encounter should have been.

“Why are _you_ so different here?” I asked her.

“You would prefer something more Demonic?”

“That is not what I mean. When Elua and I communicated, it was as if I was hanging on to … let us think of it as a galloping horse, charging into a blizzard. And the being I was trying to speak to was running backwards, able to speak to me for only a brief time and with the greatest difficulty, as the runaway horse could not be slowed and a man can only run backwards so quickly.  I had not imagined how hard it would be, for him. In that alone, Elua earned my loyalty, and I must say that you are wrong about something; I do have faith in that one.”

“ _You_ were the runaway horse, and now you are here, in the place beyond places, so that we may communicate more clearly. To do that, I have taken the liberty of detaching you from the material world for the time being. You will see much, once I feel that I no longer need your undivided attention on me.” I felt that was more rude than I deserved, what being in it’s right mind would give less than the fullest attention to a Goddess? “And we must also clarify your relation with Elua’s pantheon. There is doubt about your willingness to accept what they have to offer you.”

“It is not a matter of what they can do for me, it is what I should be doing for _them_!”

“No Merrin, it is a matter of you taking up the opportunities they present you with. You are mortal, when all is said and done, and you have the mortal foibles of perception vs philosophy. You see, it is not a matter of we Gods putting people through things, ‘using them hard’ or any of that other nonsense. It is, and ever shall be, a matter of you mortals taking advantage of the opportunities that we provide you with. It hurts to think that you people don’t understand that, but only ever so slightly. Enough of you, just enough, take advantage of what we give you. What you call Heroes, we call the Truly Alive.”

An awesome thought, and an inspiring one. Yet my mind did have to question it before accepting it fully. “I am not sure Phe’dre would agree. Before she accepted the fact that she would have to enter Darsanja, she was touched by the gods, and they nearly took something from her-“

“She would _never_ have forgiven herself if she had turned away.” Kali was so firm on this point she started to sound mechanical to me, implacable. Only one of the Gods has a right to sound that way when speaking of possible futures. “Many lives would have been changed for the worse had she not gone. What would have mattered most in Phe’dre’s case would have been Imriel’s fate, and a messy one it would have been. She was spared a lifetime of regrets, because her Gods love her so.”

“And what am I being spared?”

“Let us not be so flippant, this is not the occasion for it. You are to be taught to have faith in those you think of as the ‘little people’, and your lesson starts now.”

 

The darkness was gone when she said that, but nothing else changed. I was still her prisoner, or I was simply not adapted to this environment yet. The act of seeing was disorienting and unlike anything I had experienced before. I could see in every direction at once, even through my body. At this point it seemed overly optimistic to assume I still had one, yet optimism had served my little family well, so far.

“Good choice, now look below you.”

I recognized the place I was looking down on, from a height greater than anything could ever fly, higher than air itself existed. What I was looking down on was a river winding it’s way through flatlands that were partly forest, and partly the last fringes of the steppeland that began within sight of the Imperial wall of Ch’in. This was the very place where the allied armies would face the best the Tatar could throw at them. I could see little from this distance, and as soon as I thought of that the view took an earthward plunge. Now I could see the Tatar Horde moving up to the river. They seemed to be moving remarkably quickly, and it was also growing dark with starling speed. I understood now… I was not struggling to have a brief and one-sided chat with Kali, or she with me, because I was existing inside her time-frame now. “How many days have we been conversing?”

“Only a handful.” Was that a hint of amusement?

“Sushulana must know of my fate.”

“That has yet to be decided.”

 “No, Kali, you must give her something that will calm her.”

“I MUST?” The amusement was gone, I think I had surprised her. “I suggest you calm _yourself_ and put that renowned intellect of yours to good use. The position you are in does not speak well of how you have been thinking thus far,”

“Oh, I am.” My clarity on this point was too great for me to be cowed, even by an unpleasant Goddess. “I am asking that you mitigate some of the damage your your own action has caused. Distracted by worry for my fate, she will not be preforming her duty very well, perhaps not at all. As we both know, the fate of millions of people are depending on her mental focus.” The sun had set like a falling star while I spoke, and I was feeling something that Dragons are not supposed to feel. “Must I beg?”

“It may help.” Kali sounded/felt carefully neutral at that point.

“Even better, let us try negotiation. I will not tread upon lands where temples dedicated to you exist. We will never come into conflict with those nations.”

“How… _political_ , of you.” Thankfully, she was amused again. “And perhaps useful. Merrin, I must congratulate you, nearly every mortal seeks to negotiate with the Gods, you alone make it an interesting process. Well, almost. Your realm is also unexpected, and not entirely a welcome development.”

“We will stop short of the mainland, nor will we ever involve ourselves in the military affairs of mainland Asia.”

“Done!” She sounded so certain of herself, I felt that I might have made a mistake.

The world below was dark, and I was on emotional tenterhooks wondering what Sushulana was going through, alone down there. Made to wait in darkness again with nothing to mark the time, I imagined that she might already have met her end in some mad quest to find or avenge me.  
As it turned out, I needn’t have given it a second thought.

“Your mate is in fine fettle, ah, such a credit to her kind she is!” I didn’t ask what Kali meant by that, I had interrupted her as often as I dared. “She investigated that little party of madmen as soon as she awoke. More subtle than even you give her credit for, she worked through the captive women of that camp. Yes, captive, you didn’t think to consider that, did you? No, but she did, and when she informed them of the truth about the Ch’in men, they believed her.”

“Just like that?”

“They already suspected, they simply did not want to believe what their minds were putting together for them. Who would? They were better off with their new masters than they had been among the Tatar masters, and more than that, what human being would want to believe such a thing about their own fellow humans? They needed a little nudge, and your Sushulana can be very persuasive.”

“Yes, but-“

“She discovered that you vanished on her own, her magics are formidable and well chosen. The poor thing was having a very bad moment, but it was only a moment. She received a boon from Naamah and Cassiel both, and all it amounted to was a reminder to have faith in them all, and all would be well. Even for you, she has the feeling that all will turn out to be good in the end.”

“That’s _it_? They gave her a feeling?!”

“Yes, Merrin, that is all. She is not nearly as needy as you are, or so difficult to care for.” I resented that, of course, but the light was coming back, soon the sun would rise over the battlefield. All that concerned me was down there, and I had the most perfect view of it that anyone could ever imagine having.


	17. Chapter 17

17

 

The Skaldi had retreated farther into their country than they would have liked to, one large Steading was put to the torch by the Tatar a day’s march from the river where the allied forces were going to make their stand, and the smoke was visible to them. This also drew my attention, and I found that by looking at one place I could see it more clearly, and I will leave it at that.

Here, I must chronicle the event that I observed so clearly, and for once I must cease to speak of myself.

 

As a military barrier, rivers rarely live up to their potential in this world. A glance at the map will show you why; 100,000 men were attempting to stop triple their number of enemy warriors along a frontage of 300 miles, as the messenger bird flies. As the water-barrier flows, it was a much greater distance. A couple of hundreds of men stretched out over a distance of a mile would never be able to stop a concentrated thrust. Even as the Tatar floundered their way across the river they would prevail; the attacker could choose the place where he would cross. The problem was made worse by the fact that this attacker was entirely mounted and could move much more quickly, and so appear anywhere along the river long before the defenders could be massed in sufficient numbers to stop them.

So it is that rivers serve as a hinderance to an army, yet are rarely a battlefield in a world where armies do not number in the millions.

Sushulana had decided that this time, things would be different.

The place chosen by the the Khan for his crossing was called Dolny on his side of the river. There were thick woods that would conceal his approach until the last minute, and there was a steep rise on his side of the river, not close enough for the steepness of it to make things difficult at the banks of the river itself, but close enough to provide Scouts and the commanders with an excellent view of the other side. The river was wide at this point, too wide for bowmen or light siege weapons to provide support to their fellows should they run into trouble on the far shore, yet this was a minor issue. Other than that one item, it was one of the best places for a crossing of this sort. The water itself seemed to be cooperating, as the river was running low for this time of year.

All of this was known to all the Generals involved, and from the start the crossing appeared to be going smoothly for the invaders. Horribly so, as far as I was concerned. Waves of light Cavalry lead the way in orderly waves that rose on the far back with little difficulty. They had been harassed by a minor rain of arrows, suffering fewer casualties to that sort of resistance than they did by accidents caused by floating debris or by getting in each other’s way. There was some patchy forest on the west side of the river, much lighter than it had been on east side, and once the Tatar felt strong enough, they attempted to deal with the bowmen that had been tormenting them. They could not come to grips with the enemy, which were only a few hundred Flatlander Cavalry. In fact, cavalry was a misnomer. Like much of the Caerdicci contingent, these were archers and Halberdiers who fought on foot from concealed ambush, and fled on horseback.

They fled, riding at full speed along zig-zagging paths that were not paths at all. The Flatlanders crashed through bushes and followed no easy terrain in their retreats, and the Tatar soon found out why.

Pits had been dug that swallowed up horse and rider. Snares flipped galloping horses end over end before their riders had a chance to scream. Spikes hidden in the underbrush crippled horses, and trip-wires triggered bows meant to fire just one arrow. Again, not many casualties were inflicted, not in comparison to the ever-swelling numbers of Tatar present. These traps served mainly to slow the invaders down, and to sap their courage. There is no glory in being killed by a wooden stake or a strand of wire, even less so in being crippled for life by such things.

When the Tatar paused to deal with this menace, the Flatlanders paused as well and fired more of their galling little showers of arrows. When they were chased off the Tatar floundered in more traps, one of which was nothing more than a deep pond hidden by a mass of grass clippings. One Scout noticed that the Flatlanders had plucked little red flags from tree branches or stakes in the ground as they left, taking the markers for their safe paths as they went.

Even as the Tatar strength increased on that bridgehead, their enemy grew more stubborn. There were soon a full thousand of the infuriating Flatlanders. If they were outnumbered 30-1 by the Tatar now on that side of the river, few of the Tatar were in the right place to engage them.  
It was the start of a very frustrating day for the invaders.

Tatar commanders on the spot were slowly organizing their men in the milling chaos, and were able to reign in most of the impetuous bands that were attempting to chase down the enemy. Some of the bands that they could recall had disappeared, but they gave this little thought at the time. Just hours after the crossing had begun at dawn, the Tatar were sufficiently organized to deal with the traps and with the harassment of the Flatlanders… who promptly withdrew on horses that had not been tired by swimming the river.

 

All seemed to be going well for the Tatar horde at that point, but for 2 things;  
To the north and south of the bridgehead, the sound of falling trees reached the ears of the Tatar, Scouts discovered two thousand more Flatlanders putting the finishing touches on a barrier that ran perpendicular to the river. With them were all of the Flatlander horse-archers, now fighting afoot among their countrymen (as previously arranged, soldiers fought together with those they shared a common language with, whenever possible). Few as there were, it would be no simple matter to attack them successfully, fighting as they were from behind a tangle of fallen timber. In the north, it was the same story, and there were twice that number of Skalds there, spoiling for a fight and barely able to restrain themselves from leaving the safety of their barriers.

The Tatar were bemused at first; they intended to go West, what did north or south matter?

They found out as soon as the first contingent attempted to push in that direction. There were no soldiers there to stop them, none were needed. Streams had been diverted, the land was a quagmire that no horse could deal with. Bridges had been removed, abbatises blocked the few paths, and the traps were more numerous and deadly there. What was more; there was no good road here. The only road that would be useful to the invaders and their multitude of wagons was one that ran along the river… the very road that had been blocked by the Skadli Infantry.

Yes, Skadli; the Khans were still unaware that they faced anything but the men of Skadia on this river. The Flatlanders were not different enough for the Tatar to notice anything about them. Cavalry had been harassing the Tatar on the east side of the river, Gotlanders who also resembled the Skalds in Tatar eyes. The first was a happy accident, the second was deliberate,

 

The other misfortune to bedevil the Tatar that day was self-inflicted. Commands from the far bank became more confused and contradictory as the day went on. The Kahn of all Khans could see _most_ of what was happening, but he could not see everything. Simple orders could be sent by kites dancing about, but only when there was wind enough do carry them… which there rarely was that day. Couriers galloped to an fro, carrying orders that were in conflict with reports already coming back from the units they were intended for.

Initially, the il-Khan and his advisors were in favor of pulling back and trying their luck again elsewhere. Indeed, thousands of horsemen doubled back and re-crossed to the other side, some colliding with other hordes still headed west. This was given up as a bad idea when scouts reported that the same sort of greeting awaited them for tens of miles in either direction. Now that they knew what to look for, they could see the signs of those perpendicular barriers at regular intervals. They also caught glimpses of mounted warriors and men on foot scurrying about.

The brief retrograde movement had helped turn much of the fording area into a morass. It pleased me to think that the scouting party I had eliminated had left the Tatar with an imperfect knowledge of this part of the river. It became more difficult and frustrating to make the crossing as the day grew longer. Rafts had already been made of roughly hewn logs, but there were only so much they could do. The men who had the tools and skills to make them could make no more, they had been transported across the river to start work on a road of felled logs across the quagmire-like barrier to the west of the bridgehead. This they could have done in the half-day remaining to them had it not been for the last of the nasty surprises waiting for the Tatar there. A handful of Ballistae mounted on flat-bed wagons arrived on the far side of the marsh just ahead of them. These heavy weapons could fire their bolts at several times the range that the Tatar bows had, and completely disrupted the road-building operations. The invaders had such weapons of their own, all of which were caught up in the traffic-jam on the river’s banks. It was not until after dark that they could arrive and be set up for action.

 

There were also two things that ameliorated the il-Khan’s fury at the end of the day;

That Tater knew how long this river was, and they thought that word would only pass as swiftly as a dispatch rider could push his mount. They were not worried that the whole of armed Skaldia would descend on them in a day and a night.

Or at least, this was what they _believed_.  

The truth was that their movements had been closely monitored, and not just by a few Gotlanders. The allies had already begun to pull outlying units, and had started to mass their forces the moment the il-Khan had committed to a crossing at Dolny. Sushulana's ability to send messages far and wide also played a key role.

The other item that gave the Tatar false hope was the size of the containment area on the west bank. It was vast; over 7 miles wide along the river, and nearly that deep. All the Tatar Generals were in agreement; this was a cataclysmic error on the part of the westerners, and something the educated men of Ch’in would never have done. In an area that size, nearly a quarter of a million men could be massed, and still have all the elbow room they needed to organize themselves and fight their way out.

And fight they would. Come dawn, they would either go north or south, smash their way through those paltry barricades and even more paltry defenders, and continue the war on their own terms, on open ground. The box-shaped lines of encirclement would work against the defenders; for the north or the south to reinforce the other, the soldiers would have to march the long way around. There was no way they could do it before the horse-bound Tatar could react, and smash their way through undefended barriers. From his lofty perch, the il-Khan would see any move they made, and signal his men as to which was the best way to go.

The supreme leader of the Tatar hordes felt no need to issue explicit orders for the next day ahead of time, he felt that he would be able to see all he needed to by then. Many of the trees he had come to despise would have fallen by then, and his vision and his temper would be much clearer.

 

“And thus, that Khan has has not only lost his war, but the history of his people will be forever divided by what befalls them tomorrow. He does not even know it… ah, but neither do you!”

“Kali… I _have_  to be there-“

“Why? So you can be riddled with 10,000 arrows and bolts and javelins and who knows what else. You would just rush in, wouldn’t you? Your nature demands it with your mate’s life on the line. So, in my own way, you could say I am saving your life.”

  
I grumbled mentally.

“ _Say_ it.”

“No.” was my response. “I don’t think that’s what you are doing here. You have a point to make… but I need to prevent someone from seeking vengeance on my behalf when-“

“Oh, you can be such a bother! I honestly don’t know how Sushulana can put up with a male like you. Such a high-maintenance fellow you are.”

That was a term Sushulana had once used to describe herself. “Thank you, should I be grateful that you are not adding injury to these insults?”

“The night is young. So eager to protect your own, your treasure. Let me ask you, Merrin; if women could spontaneously reproduce without the input of a male _and_  choose the sex of their offspring, do you think that any of them would be male?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, you would want someone around to do the more unpleasant things-“

“Hah!” I was growing tired of being interrupted by her. Kali drew my attention irresistibly to the bridgehead where the Tatar were encamped. There were fighting men gathered around meager camfires, going about their business, and the women were also in the 1st wave. Women doing menial and indispensable chores, some of them right behind the warriors in battle. One of those tasks was to dispatch the enemy wounded, and to strip the dead of anything useful. That was surely one of the most disagreeable of jobs, as soldiers rarely die cleanly. Not only are they a bloody mess in the end, generally, but they also have a tendency to foul themselves. It must be incredibly disturbing to remove a man’s helmet, if it the full-face sort, only to find it filled with a dead man’s vomit.

“That … isn’t exactly what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?” this time, Kali did not sound mocking or peeved. “Let us return to another item; you find the more female methods of warfare disagreeable. Assassination is only a part of it, there is also spying, insurgency, terrorism, the list goes on. Clever ways for the weaker to overcome the stronger, and yet you seem to have a moral objection to this?”

“Your damn right I do, and Sushulana agrees with me! Heads of nations that send out assassins must expect to be visited by the same weapon in return. Wars that can never end start that way, and all this _Guerrilla_ nonsense is more of the same. A nation generally loses a war because they did not prepare properly, or they had a poor system of government that provided an inferior army, or were clinging to out-dated notions. They _failed,_  and to try to recover from that lose through treachery by murder in the shadows after they failed in the daylight battlefield is disgusting! It makes the victor malignant and fills everyone else’s minds with the wrong ideas. Even the defeated can find other ways, but what we are talking about can _not_ lead to a new beginning that is better than what came before.”

“I grant you that possibility.” Kali fairly purred, or seemed to. “But what of the nation that only lost because it was smaller? What of the victor that wast malignant from the outset only only grew worse after their conquest? What of a people that find no other choices aside from slavery or death? There are wrongs that a Kingdom cannot make right, especially after it has fallen.”

“Well… there are exceptions to everything. A heroic resistance could perhaps achieve it’s goal without becoming something monstrous, but only if there was some sort of limits on how far it went, some moderating influence.”

“And here I am, Dragon. Pleased to make your acquaintance, at long last.”

Oh…

I could see her in outline, against the night sky. The image faded as the dawn make its swift rise, but I did have a momentary view of the _line_  of her, the subtle perfection of her… and her points of commonality with my own love, Sushulana. I was disturbed, and not by that, but rather by my own shocking lack of insight. “So, its true. There is no fool like an old fool.”

“You need not be so hard on yourself, Merrin. You are not all that old, after all.” There was something of a smirk in those lines as they faded from view. “You have traveled far down a strange new path, let yourself go just a little farther. Have faith, _real_ faith, and try detaching from all this. We Gods must do so all the time.”

I settled in to do just that, as the final act in this drama unfolded.


	18. Chapter 18

18

 

 

Fires had been lit on the west side of the river before it was dawn, by the allies. The Tatar were contemptuous of this development. They knew how to deal with fire and this ground was far from dry, the grass and the trees were both healthy and green. Tatar young and old were unafraid, and yet they grew mightily annoyed by the time the sun rose. The prevailing wind still blew in their faces, as did the smoke. Dense, heavy smoke from green wood lay close to the ground, and would continue to do so until the sun rose far enough to warm and dry out the air. Until it did, the il-Khan could neither see nor command his troops on the far side.

The Tatar Generals on the bridgehead were not paralyzed by indecision. The first thing they did was attempt to take advantage of the cover provided by the smoke and send their men across their new log-paved roads across our artificial swamp. They found Alban Charioteers waiting for them, hundreds of them. The chariots had been overturned to form a new line of barriers, behind which the Alban archers peppered the Tatars with arrows at the few places where their roads had crossed the marshes. The barriers were laid out in a horseshoe shape, allowing all the Albans to shoot at the same place. Soon the Tatar had a new barrier to deal with; one made up of their own dead and wounded.

  
The long timber barricades on either side of the bridgehead were now manned by _tens_ of thousands of defenders, and to break through the Tatar would need an edge… unless they were looking forward to digging the sort of mass-graves that the Ch’in had been forced to dig during the recent plague. The il-Khan had the edge they needed standing by; 20,000 of his best commanders leading his most ferocious warriors. The plan was to force a crossing behind the northern or southern wing of the allied barricades, after the Khans had a look at them. Now they could not see their own men, let alone the enemy, and waited for the smoke to clear. An hour made no difference, another hour saw the smoke pile up at the base of the bluff and begin to rise. Soon, they would not be able to see anything at all.

The il-Khan tossed a coin and directed his man to cross upstream and attack the southern barriers, and sent messengers to alert his army in the bridgehead. The messengers made it to the other side of the river, but the il-Khan’s spoilers never had a chance.

Thanks to the smoke, the disaster was carried to the il-Khan by sounds alone. I myself was as mystified and somewhat discomfited by what I was sensing. At first I thought it was like a Cavalry charge, and easy association given what was going on that day. It grew louder, so much so that it was more like an earthquake as heard in an underground cavern. The rumbling roar drowned out the screams of men and horses and at last the smoke was cleared by a glorious sight. It was not men that were wrecking unprecedented devastation on the Tatar hordes, it was the River itself.

The Master of the Straits had decided in our favor, after all.

The twenty thousand gathered to cross the river were beaten to death by a wall of water moving twice the speed of a horse running for its life. The rush of water blew the smoke away just before it was met by another one coming from the north, _up_ -stream. Many more thousands that simply happened to be near the river were also swept away, not a one of them were of the western allies. A lesser flood washed over the bridgehead, this one just inches high in most places… just enough to extinguish the camp-fires that would have been used to light fire-arrows meant for the barricades. Few died there, the real damage was done by panicked horses that stamped about, churning what had been firm ground into swampy muck.

Horrified, the il-Khan watched all of this, eyes wide and jaw agape as the waters subsided, and yet he was not devastated. His Army was marooned on the bridghead, but they could still break free. It would be a long, bloody, costly process, exactly the mess that all of them had been hoping to avoid. The il-Khan could see that the Tatar still held a 3-1 advantage in numbers down there, or 6-1 if they threw their full weight against one barricade or the other. Indeed they would, all that remained was for the army to sort itself out again, and for the Generals to decide which way to send them, based on what they could now see.

Hyacinth, may the Gods bless his memory, seemed to have shot his bolt. He’d not had much water to work with, not compared to the oceans he was used to. I attempted to mentally urge him to greater efforts, and then fell to silent prayers as I watched the il-Khan and his retinue dash back and forth on the overlook. They wanted to make the right choice before issuing their last order to the men on the far side, and I felt my detachment slipping away. Mathematics dictated a Tatar victory this day, no matter how clever and resourceful the allies were. Once they broke free of the barricades, the horsemen would regain their mobility and annihilate the men of Europa.

“Have a little faith.”

That voice did not sound so much like Kali, but more like Sushulana.

The order was never given. In the main camp on the east side of the river, a commotion was rising, and a messenger arrived with news that the Khans could not ignore. They dashed back, away from the river, followed by the il-Khan before he could issue his orders to the bridgehead.

 

The camp on that side of the river was much smaller than the bridgehead, only some fifty thousand people or so placed a couple miles east of the River. This was also the political heart of the Tatar nation. Elders and brothers of the Generals that had lead their men to the far bank, and wives with a certain amount of influence. Shaman and Ch’in advisors rubbed elbows there as well, and it was some of the later that caused a near-riot before the highest leaders of all the Tatar tribes could arrive. The little caravan of the Ch’in physicians had arrived. Or, rather, the women of that caravan, and the one “physician” that Sushulana had left alive. Threatened with a sample of his deadly wares, the man spilled his story out before the il-Khan could arrive to put a stop to it. His people met him with the harsh truth, and were stupefied to see the truth of the situation in his eyes.

 _He already knew_.

In all likelihood, he had known all along.

The bejeweled and exotic prize of Europa had always taunted his people. Distance and disunity had held them back in the past. Ch’in was a beast with a single head, Europa had many, a Wolfpack compared to Ch’in’s lone Tiger. Ah, but those lunatic, traitorous physicians had gifted the il-Khan with just the thing he had needed to unify his people and drive them to their new paradise, a land ripe for the taking. He stood atop his horse as if it were a town-crier’s plinth as he explained this to his people. Now was not the time to hesitate or argue or begin all the rigamarole of selecting a new il-Khan (a notion that was clearly in their minds), not with their army on the far bank and on the brink of victory. He gestured dramatically towards the west, and froze in place when he saw what he was pointing at.

The heights he had just vacated was now occupied by 14,000 Cavalry, not his own. All of the Skalds, the Aragonians, a handful of Jutes and the surviving Gotlanders, and every mounted D'angeline that had made the journey. Sushulana! She was there too, among them and just as eager for battle as the wildest of the Skaldi.

The river was still too frothy and unsettled to allow a crossing. The only way the allied cavalry could be on this side of the river was if they had crossed under cover of darkness… or if they had been on the east side all along. ( I later learned that she had used her spells to hide them on this side of the river, hiding her little army within sight of the vast hordes... disguised as trees)

At that moment, the il-Khan saw this as a godsend; something to rally his people around. He dropped into his saddle, drew is sword and shouted his war-cry. This Khan of all Khans was the first to charge, spurring his mount and not looking back. It was just as well, more than half of the Tatars stayed where they were. Only his most loyal confederates, his personal guard and his own tribesmen joined him, a few thousand more than he would have needed to have equal odds.

Thinking back on it, I don’t think it would have mattered if they had all joined in, there was simply no stopping the allies when they charged downslope, meeting the Tatar halfway.

The Tatar are famous as horsemen and warriors, rightly so. However, they had never seen anything like D’angeline Chivalry. With their advanced armor, couched lances and tight formations, they hammered the Tatars into disarray on the first blow and never allowed them to recover. The Skaldi were nearly as terrible. Their axes were made for throwing, and for crunching their way through armor when they hit. Some Skaldi could throw them two at a time, one from each hand, and others would leap from their horse to a Tatar one for the closest of all close-combat. The swift-moving Aragonians darted towards the enemy archers and let fly with abundant and well-aimed javelins.

  
I could tell more of that, but my attention was riveted to Sushulana and her exploits.

She held back for most of the battle, one of the few horse-archers on her side. She used arrows that screamed in flight to help direct the men. One type of wailing arrow meant “Danger that way!” and a different sort of whistle meant “Go in that direction.” The only time she used the more common sort of arrow was when she saw a senior Tatar officer, and that Tatar died nearly every time she let fly. The il-Khan was not among her targets, he had pulled up short of actual contact with the enemy so that he might direct his troops. Sensibly enough, he fell farther and father back as his formations were broken and the survivors began to fall back. Sushulana took the opposite tack; gradually abandoning her roll as a director and taking the leading roll in the pursuit of the il-Khan’s entourage… unaware that I was watching with ever increasing anxiety. She used up her last quiver of arrows and unsheathed her sword while the small group of D’Angeline Knights still with her trampled a knot of unhorsed Tatar that were probably attempting to surrender. Nobody was less interested in what they were actually trying to do than my mate was at that moment.

Yes, war is incredibly distasteful, to say it mildly. Few veterans would advocate for more… so, why should Sushulana approach it with such enthusiasm? The reasons are several, but foremost is that this one of her ways of affecting the world for the better, in the long term.

Never doubt the fanaticism with which some people approach the world’s problems, nor underestimate the excesses with which they may be tempted to let fly.

 

Sushulana’s headlong pursuit carried her into the heart of of the Tatar encampment. The il-Khan meant to rally his more reluctant followers, and he would have been successful. No matter what they thought of him, the Tatar would _have_ to unify in order to defend themselves from the Westerners simply to save themselves. Sushulana would not give him a chance to do so. Her little band followed hard on the il-Khan’s heels, and took the Tatar by surprise. They had even beaten the bulk of the retreating Tatar loyalists back to the encampment. Too small a group to appear to be any threat, but just enough to keep the il’Khan’s henchmen at bay until Sushulana was close enough to call out her challenge to the warlord in front of his people.

She wore the ring that gave her a servicable but unsophisticated command of all languages. I did not, yet it was easy enough to understand what was happening. Sushulan’s adversary had dismounted before his exhausted and wounded horse collapsed under him, so she did as well, walking towards him with her curved sword pointed at him. That il-Khan, who’s name I refuse to record for posterity, responded to her shouted challenges with a contemptful gaze and even more contemptible words. She told me later that the Tatar had heard of her somehow. Instead of calling her things she had become accustomed too, such as ‘dark advisor’ or ‘tough little bastard’, he called her “evil genius” and “witchling”. Dismounted, her diminutive size was apparent to all, and I think it was more influential than her reputation in that moment. The Tatar warlord did not hesitate to accept her challenge. Indeed, he could not have refused her in front of his people, not if he wanted their help continuing the war.

Not if he wanted to avoid summary execution by his own people, right then and there.

The il-Khan drew his own sword, one not so different from Sushulana’s own in shape, yet somewhat larger. He advanced on Sushulana with a grim smile on his face, and it may have been genuine. Here was his chance to save himself and perhaps his position, as well as to take down the brains behind the western allies. Yes, this warlord was intelligent, he was one of the few to realize who had orchestrated the mess his army had blundered into with such uncanny foresight. He was also a highly experienced warrior that had defeated over 100 men in combats that ranged from duels like this to the darkest battlefields. A swordsman without equal from Skadia to Ch’in, he intended to make a bloody example of his latest foe.

He never stood a chance.

Sushulana had first assumed the alias Phaing while still a child, fighting for her life with broomsticks and bricks in the back alleys of one of the most disgusting cities that ever existed. After that, it was rare that even a decade passed without more fighting or more wars, for Centuries. Wiry yet never strong, she fought with her mind to end fights quickly, and this was no exception. It was butchery. Sidonie’s first sight of Sushulana had engrossed and horrified her, she would have recoiled from her adopted sister had she seen how much farther she took things this time.

The il’Khan was allowed to make the first attacks, a risky moves with any opponent. Sushulana deflected his thrusts and slashes with an economy of motion that was a beauty to behold. She wanted to make him just a little tired, and more than a little frustrated, and she soon succeed at both. Time was not on his side, and when the il-Khan over-extended for an instant, his time ended.

Sushulana loped his sword-hand off, and when he reached for the stump she took his other hand. Without breaking the momentum of that back-handed swing she spun about on one heel and chopped through both of his legs just above the ankles. And, as Sidonie had once witnessed, she rose from that crouch to give the il-Khan a kick to the chest that sent him sprawling on his back. Sushulana followed that up by leaping high into the air and landing squarely on that man’s chest. This forced blood to fountain out of his severed limbs, and it also forced some into his head, as was her intention. With a sharp shriek she then brought her sword down on his neck, severing his head and leaving her blade embedded in the ground beneath. She then grabbed his head by the hair and lifted it. Standing tall she looked into his face, and spat into it.  
The il-Khan had not even had a chance to scream, the still-living face attempted to do so now. It was a hideous sight to be sure, and Sushulana walked in a semi-circle to display it to the gathering of Tatar all about her. Before the blood ran out of the stump of a neck, the jaw worked twice and the eyes rolled about. She gestured to those eyes and shouted at the horde all about her, making her points before tossing the head back over her shoulder and kicking it away.

  
The Tatar seemed angrier than ever, and the victorious allies were getting no closer, I could see that they had paused in their advance!

  
“I must be there.” Time had been slowing down in the world I was viewing, now it seemed to stop.

“Do you?” Kali asked, and I anticipated the follow-up questions.

“I love her.”

“Then indeed you _must_ be there, but there is a proposal that we have for you, a choice-“

“Do not tempt me, I will decide nothing without consulting _her_ , nothing!” In the back of my mind, I had sensed a possibility, a strange a frightful invitation to join in a very exclusive society, and a lofty one. What a long and strange journey it would be… and I suppose I should have lusted after the possibility of such supreme position of power and understanding. No… my detachment was exhausted, Sushulana needed me by her side and nothing else mattered to me. Nothing else _could_.

  
I focused all of my willpower on being at her side, and suddenly I was! No further imprisonment, no barriers to breach, not even a last word from Kali.

 

The sensation was similar to leaping from a moving ship onto an ice flow. I braced myself by spreading my wings and raising my tail… and thus discovered that I was back in my natural form, standing a little behind Sushulana and towering far over her head. I looked down to see her face turned up towards me with a smile that could have melted an iceberg.

*Glad you could make it, what are they thinking?*

The echo of their thoughts made my haste to be here a little foolish, in retrospect. The anger of the Tatar had been focused on the late il-Khan. Sushulana had been pointing at the tears coming from his dying eyes, and told them that those tears meant he had seen the folly of his ways in the end. They must turn back to the lands between Vralia and Krim, the unburnt pasturelands they had been ignoring in their haste to plunder Europa. In a year's time the eastern lands they had burnt would be greener than ever and would welcome them back with soft grass and a fresh beginning… back where they belonged.

When I was looking at that painting of the Tatar arrival, I had balked at the notion of facing 1,000 arrows. Here, I had leapt at the chance to face ten times that number, only to serve as a point of emphasis; This was _not_ where the Tatar belonged.

**I believe they find your proposal acceptable**

 

Peace negotiations were finalized the next day. Interestingly, the Tatar had specified that the raids by the d’Angeline “of the south” and their Skaldi allies was to cease immediately. We were glad to hear that they had been so succesful, given their small numbers. Nearly every one of the people that had come from Terre D’Ange were hearing of their long-lost cousins for the first time, and the Skaldi as well. The later were only just beginning to learn what a large and interesting place the wider world could be, and one of their terms for peace was free passage to Krim so that they might meet the Skalds of that odd little land.

There was little more to talk about, let alone negotiate. No prisoners to exchange or territory to haggle over now that the Tatar had agreed to leave. They needed nothing from us, as soon as the First Wave retreated to the Second and Third waves they would have access to their herds and time to find a place to endure the winter, a mild one by their standards. There was another factor besides my own presence behind the Tatar acquiescence to our demands; the elders had noticed this mild climate and relatively mild environment. Partly as a rationalization, and partly in truth, they told each other how this place would weaken the younger generations, and turn them into something less than the hard-bitten Tatar people the world knew and dreaded. It was a fascinating thing to discover, their ferocity had been cultivated as a defensive measure, as much as it was anything else. Even the marauding Horseclans have reason to fear the wider world.

As for my ‘appearance’, it was a source of considerable controversy among the Allied Cavalry. They had seen me, even from a distance the sight of a Dragon dropping out of thin air is as unmistakable as it is unforgettable. When questioned about it, Sushulana responded with a shrug and a smile; “Yeah, it sure _looked_ real, didn’t it?”  
And that was how it was allowed to lay, and that story was made officially acceptable by Crown Prince Jarrett himself. He, who knew the truth better than anyone else present, had more reason to preserve our little secrets, our necessary fiction. In truth, a witch’s illusionary powers were far more believable than the existence of an actual Dragon.

This was the West, after all.

The Tatar, on the other hand, understood the truth of the mater. The footprints I had left in their encampment allowed for no such delusions.

Speaking of Jarrett, he had acquitted himself well. ‘Won his spurs’, as they say, leading the D’angeline contingent in his first and last major battle to a swift and clean victory. He was not injured, and in my eyes his way of carrying himself had improved. Like so many other men that were there, he was in awe of the massive event he had taken part in, and spoke in measured & respectful tones of it for the rest of his days. Always a man in control of his pride, this humility suited him well. I only wish that I had done a better job of communicating this to him at the time.

 

There were casualties, of course.

  
Few had died, few among the _Allied_ side I mean to say. Yet that does not mean that those Armies did not carry the cost of war back with them. The wounded and maimed almost always outnumber the dead, and some of these were dreadful. The great Leader of the Allied Armies of Europa was among the worst. In the moment of his triumph, Rennenkampf had suffered a hammer-like blow to the head and tumbled from his horse. By the time the Chirugons had reached him, and later myself, it was too late to undo the damage. This highly intelligent and dynamic man who was more diplomatic than I or Sushulana can ever hope to be, was reduced to a drooling simpleton. Far better, his countrymen said, had he been killed outright that day. In the years remaining to him, the man that had been Rennenkampf was occasionally visited by folk wanting to pay their respects, or seen sitting on a stool outside his family home… a potent lesson to the Skaldi. Since the fall of Waldemar Selig, the Skaldi had been having second thoughts about the supremacy of the Warrior Culture and their aggressive stance towards their neighbors _and_  towards each other. Seeing what had happened to Rennenkampf made many a Skadli look for other ways to make their mark on the world. In the years to come, many of them would become known as explorers, traders, and most notably; craftsmen.

The small number of casualties had an effect on the greeting that the Armies of Europa received on their homecoming. The standard reaction among the general population (outside of Skaldia) was “oh, well it couldn’t have been all _that_ much of a thing”. Few people would take the time to hear of the intricacy of the battle or the scale of the peril, fewer yet could understand the details.

Only an army bathed in its own gore can receive a proper fete’, it would seem.

Thus it was (again, outside of Skaldia) that the battle with the Tatar was soon relegated to the status of a grand little adventure, and chiefly remembered as a campaign were all sorts of old allies and old foes marched as one, united as never before. I count that as the best of the outcomes; for the remainder of Queen Anielle’s reign the very idea of a war between the people of Europa was held to be an embarrassment, and was avoided by nearly all of them.

 

At sunset on the day after the battle, Sushulana and I stood side by side and watched Jarrett light the pyre of our gravest casualty. There was no body, this was purely symbolic, Hyacinth’s remains were never found.

We didn’t know what to make of it at first, he was there one minute and gone the next. It was hours before one of his Alban escorts came forward, eyes full of tears and voice barely working. The Master of the Straits had been walking on the water as if nothing unusual was happening, cane and all, even as the water he was walking on rose 30 feet above it’s banks at his command. Suddenly, he dropped his cane, clutched his head, and abruptly lot control of his water. Hyacinth sank out of view in a heartbeat. Of the five Albans in the rowboat that had been following him, one had survived the collapse of the river by wedging himself under a bench and not leaving the boat until it ceased to tumble about.

We didn’t how to proceed. There was not a living soul left who had clear memories of this world prior to Hyacinth's birth. His passing had ended an era, and seemed to close the door on the possibility of more grand adventures of the sort penned by Phe’dre and Imriel. Of course, anyone that has studied those writings properly would not be all that dismayed that they would not have to participate directly in any such doings!

Hyacinth, of all people, gone. Was I to blame, taunting him as I had? How could I face Imriel and Sidonie again, not knowing one way or the other? Face them I must, and soon… _we_ , Sushulana and I must come clean with them for the sake of common decency if nothing else. How?

Detachment ….

Such an easy sound to that word, but it is one that I fear may be beyond me forever. I can feel a great deal, or I can feel nothing at all. To be detached is to understand without feeling too much, just enough to have the best possible understanding. No more than that, and if you can truly master that then I believe there must be something god-like about that person. I don’t mean to elevate ordinary beings, or to demean gods, but this talent does seem to be a prerequisite for ascending from one level to the other.

Or, at least in the eyes of some of them.

Every time I thought about it, I found myself liking these new Gods that Sushulana had lead me too a little bit more.

I took Sushulana’s hand in my own as we stood there, silently watching this vast pyre on the bank of a river who’s old name was about to be forgotten in favor of a new name; Hyacinth River.

*I had to spend half an hour coaching them to pronounce his name properly.* She already knew what had happened to me thanks to Kali, and understood . She even thought that the promises I had made should be honored, even if the situation was not what I had thought it to be when I’d made them. Showing respect by keeping our distance, and the avoidance of any issue that could lead to any conflict of interests. The ferocity Sushulana had shown on the battlefield and the ruthlessness with which she had planned it … was gone now, as if she had silenced that part of herself and locked it away somewhere. *Once again, only the Skaldi were really paying attention, I think they like me. I’m afraid if they liked me much more, they might start talking too much about what I did, instead of what Rennenkampf was supposed to have done.*

  
**Well, we can’t have that. Or… would you like to stay here a while? Instruct the future leaders of the Skaldi Army under an assumed name, perhaps?**

She shook her head. *This was probably the cleanest win ever for me. That means if I ever have to do this again, it can only be worse. No, I am done with this sort of thing, hopefully forever. I just want to go home.*

**Our children have things well in hand. I know this may sound a little rough to you, but I think they have been lingering at the nest just to keep us happy. **

*Well then, I’d say that means it is time for us to have some more.* She leaned into me, not daring to smile while the Pyre was burning, but she did slip a small candle free from her sleeve and into my hand. A very particular sort of candle. I liked her ideas, and now they were telling me that the next great stories of this world would not be our own, but perhaps of our children's.

**Great minds think alike.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure what to say here, but this one wasn't like the last one. I didn't have much fun this time around and as I said in other places the inspiration never really bit down and took hold of me.  
> Some important things were said and now I can move on to Book 3... give me a week or so before looking at that again so I can mod it out a little.  
> This one, it could have been three times as long with the exposition it deserved, and I'm sorry that I just could not find it in me to do it. And, I want to move on to the one where I can get out of Merrin's head and into Moirin, a much nicer place to be and a tale to tell that is more alive in my mind.  
> As for this, well, let me know what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose it would make more sense to work on this one, and leave Companions for a later date. Forgive me if this one takes even longer, since writing as Merrin can be as exhausting as it is absorbing. Dragon, ancient, worldly... yes, all of that... but he also has an IQ that is considerably higher than my own. 
> 
> Jeez, talk about tap-dancing in a minefield!


End file.
